UC-NRLF 


B    M    1D^    177 


STORIES   OF  RED   HANRAHAN 
THE  SECRET  ROSE 
ROSA  ALCHEMICA 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

MBW  YORK    •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &   CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

THE   SECRET   ROSE 

ROSA  ALCHEMICA 


BY 

W.   B.  YEATS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1914 

AU  rightt  reserved 


New  and  Retibeb  Edition 
Copyright,  1914, 

By  the  macmillan  company. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  April,  1914. 


KorbiaaD  ^tees 

J.  S.  Cushlng  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


■  "6 


CONTENTS 


PASB 

STORIES   OF   RED   HANRAHAN       ...  1 

Red  Hanrahan 3 

The  Twisting  of  the  Rope    ....  22 

'  Hanrahan  and  Cathleen  the  Daughter  of  - 

hoolihan 35 

Red  Hanrahan's  Curse 42 

Hanrahan' 3  Vision 64 

The  Death  of  Hanrahan       ....  64 

Dedication  to  A.  E 77 

THE   SECRET  ROSE 79 

To  the  Secret  Rose 81 

The  Crucifixion  of  the  Outcast         .        .  83 

Out  of  the  Rose 99 

The  Wisdom  of  the  King      .         .         .         .112 

The  Heart  of  the  Spring  ....  124 
The    Curse    of    the    Fires    and    of    the 

Shadows 134 

The  Old  Men  of  the  Twilight    .         .         .  145 

Where  there  is  Nothing,  there  is  God  .  154 
Proud    Costello,    MacDermot's   Daughter 

AND  the  Bitter  Tongue  ....  163 

ROSA  ALCHEMICA 189 


STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 


I  owe  thanks  to  Lady  Gregory,  who  helped  me 
to  rewrite  The  Stories  of  Red  Hanrahan  in  the 
beautiful  country  speech  of  Kiliartan,  and 
nearer  to  the  tradition  of  the  people  among  whom 
he,  or  some  likeness  of  him,  drifted  and  is 
remembered. 


RED  HANRAHAN 

Haneahan,  the  hedge  schoolmaster,  a 
tall,  strong,  red-haired  young  man,  came 
into  the  bam  where  some  of  the  men  of  the 
village  were  sitting  on  Samhain  Eve.  It 
had  been  a  dwelling-house,  and  when  the 
man  that  owned  it  had  built  a  better  one, 
he  had  put  the  two  rooms  together,  and 
kept  it  for  a  place  to  store  one  thing  or 
another.  There  was  a  fire  on  the  old 
hearth,  and  there  were  dip  candles  stuck 
in  bottles,  and  there  was  a  black  quart 
bottle  upon  some  boards  that  had  been 
put  across  two  barrels  to  make  a  table. 
Most  of  the  men  \yere  sitting  beside  the 
fire,  and  one  of  them  was  singing  a  long 
wandering  song,  about  a  Munster  man 
and  a  Connaught  man  that  were  quarrel- 
ling about  their  two  provinces. 

Hanrahan  went  to  the  man  of  the  house 
and  said,  '  I  got  your  message ' ;  but  when 
he  had  said  that,  he  stopped,  for  an  old 
3 


4  STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

mountainy  man  that  had  a  shirt  and 
trousers  of  unbleached  flannel,  and  that 
was  sitting  by  himself  near  the  door,  was 
looking  at  him,  and  moving  an  old  pack 
of  cards  about  in  his  hands  and  muttering. 
'Don't  mind  him,'  said  the  man  of  the 
house;  'he  is  only  some  stranger  came  in 
awhile  ago,  and  we  bade  him  welcome,  it 
being  Samhain  night,  but  I  think  he  is  not 
in  his  right  wits.  Listen  to  him  now  and 
you  will  hear  what  he  is  saying.' 

They  Ustened  then,  and  they  could  hear 
the  old  man  muttering  to  himself  as  he 
turned  the  cards,  'Spades  and  Diamonds, 
Courage  and  Power;  Clubs  and  Hearts, 
Knowledge  and  Pleasure.' 

'That  is  the  kind  of  talk  he  has  been 
going  on  with  for  the  last  hour,'  said  the 
man  of  the  house,  and  Hanrahan  turned 
his  eyes  from  the  old  man  as  if  he  did  not 
like  to  be  looking  at  him. 

'I  got  your  message,'  Hanrahan  said 
then;  '  "he  is  in  the  barn  with  his  three 
first  cousins  from  Kilchriest,"  the  messen- 
ger said,  "and  there  are  some  of  the 
neighbours  with  them."' 


RED  HANRAHAN  5 

'  It  is  my  cousin  over  there  is  wanting  to 
see  you,'  said  the  man  of  the  house,  and 
he  called  over  a  young  frieze-coated  man, 
who  was  Ustening  to  the  song,  and  said, 
'This  is  Red  Hanrahan  you  have  the 
message  for.' 

'It  is  a  kind  message,  indeed,'  said  the 
young  man,  'for  it  comes  from  your  sweet- 
heart, Mary  Lavelle.' 

'How  would  you  get  a  message  from  her, 
and  what  do  you  know  of  her  ? ' 

'I  don't  know  her,  indeed,  but  I  was  in 
Loughrea  yesterday,  and  a  neighbour  of 
hers  that  had  some  deahngs  with  me  was 
saying  that  she  bade  him  send  you  word, 
if  he  met  anyone  from  this  side  in  the 
market,  that  her  mother  has  died  from 
her,  and  if  you  have  a  mind  yet  to  join 
with  herself,  she  is  wilhng  to  keep  her 
word  to  you.' 

'I  will  go  to  her  indeed,'  said  Hanrahan. 

'And  she  bade  you  make  no  delay,  for  if 
she  has  not  a  man  in  the  house  before  the 
month  is  out,  it  is  hkely  the  httle  bit  of 
land  will  be  given  to  another.' 

When  Hanrahan  heard  that,  he  rose  up 


6  STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

from  the  bench  he  had  sat  down  on.  'I 
will  make  no  delay  indeed/  he  said,  'there 
is  a  full  moon,  and  if  I  get  as  far  as  Gil- 
chreist  to-night,  I  will  reach  to  her  before 
the  setting  of  the  sun  to-morrow.' 

When  the  others  heard  that,  they  began 
to  laugh  at  him  for  being  in  such  haste  to 
go  to  his  sweetheart,  and  one  asked  him  if 
he  would  leave  his  school  in  the  old  lime- 
kiln, where  he  was  giving  the  children  such 
good  learning.  But  he  said  the  children 
would  be  glad  enough  in  the  morning  to 
find  the  place  empty,  and  no  one  to  keep 
them  at  their  task;  and  as  for  his  school 
he  could  set  it  up  again  in  any  place,  hav- 
ing as  he  had  his  little  inkpot  hanging  from 
his  neck  by  a  chain,  and  his  big  Virgil  and 
his  primer  in  the  skirt  of  his  coat. 

Some  of  them  asked  him  to  drink  a  glass 
before  he  went,  and  a  young  man  caught 
hold  of  his  coat,  and  said  he  must  not  leave 
them  without  singing  the  song  he  had  made 
in  praise  of  Venus  and  of  Mary  Lavelle. 
He  drank  a  glass  of  whiskey,  but  he  said  he 
would  not  stop  but  would  set  out  on  his 
journey. 


RED  HANRAHAN  ,7 

'There's  time  enough,  Red  Hanrahan,' 
said  the  man  of  the  house.  'It  will  be 
time  enough  for  you  to  give  up  sport  when 
you  are  after  your  marriage,  and  it  might  be 
a  long  time  before  we  will  see  you  again.' 

'I  will  not  stop,'  said  Hanrahan;  'my 
mind  would  be  on  the  roads  all  the  time, 
bringing  me  to  the  woman  that  sent  for  me, 
and  she  lonesome  and  watching  till  I  come.' 

Some  of  the  others  came  about  him, 
pressing  him  that  had  been  such  a  pleasant 
comrade,  so  full  of  songs  and  every  kind  of 
trick  and  fun,  not  to  leave  them  till  the 
night  would  be  over,  but  he  refused  them 
all,  and  shook  them  off,  and  went  to  the 
door.  But  as  he  put  his  foot  over  the 
threshold,  the  strange  old  man  stood  up 
and  put  his  hand  that  was  thin  and 
withered  like  a  bird's  claw  on  Hanrahan's 
hand,  and  said:  'It  is  not  Hanrahan,  the 
learned  man  and  the  great  songmaker,  that 
should  go  out  from  a  gathering  like  this,  on 
a  Samhain  night.  And  stop  here,  now,' 
he  said,  'and  play  a  hand  with  me;  and 
here  is  an  old  pack  of  cards  has  done  its 
work  many  a  night  before  this,  and  old  as 


8  STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

it  is,  there  has  been  much  of  the  riches  of 
the  world  lost  and  won  over  it.' 

One  of  the  young  men  said,  'It  isn't 
much  of  the  riches  of  the  world  has  stopped 
with  yourself,  old  man,'  and  he  looked  at 
the  old  man's  bare  feet,  and  they  all 
laughed.  But  Hanrahan  did  not  laugh, 
but  he  sat  down  very  quietly,  without  a 
word.  Then  one  of  them  said, '  So  you  will 
stop  with  us  after  all,  Hanrahan ' ;  and  the 
old  man  said:  'He  will  stop  indeed,  did 
you  not  hear  me  asking  him  ? ' 

They  all  looked  at  the  old  man  then  as  if 
wondering  where  he  came  from.  'It  is  far 
I  am  come,'  he  said, '  through  France  I  have 
come,  and  through  Spain,  and  by  Lough 
Greine  of  the  hidden  mouth,  and  none  has 
refused  me  anything.'  And  then  he  was 
silent  and  nobody  liked  to  question  him, 
and  they  began  to  play.  There  were  six 
men  at  the  boards  playing,  and  the  others 
were  looking  on  behind.  They  played 
two  or  three  games  for  nothing,  and  then 
the  old  man  took  a  fourpenny  bit,  worn 
very  thin  and  smooth,  out  from  his  pocket, 
and  he  called  to  the  rest  to  put  something 


RED  HANRAHAN  9 

on  the  game.  Then  they  all  put  down 
something  on  the  boards,  and  little  as  it 
was  it  looked  much,  from  the  way  it  was 
shoved  from  one  to  another,  first  one  man 
winning  it  and  then  his  neighbour.  And 
sometimes  the  luck  would  go  against  a  man 
and  he  would  have  nothing  left,  and  then 
one  or  another  would  lend  him  something, 
and  he  would  pay  it  again  out  of  his 
winnings,  for  neither  good  nor  bad  luck 
stopped  long  with  anyone. 

And  once  Hanrahan  said  as  a  man  would 
say  in  a  dream,  'It  is  time  for  me  to  be 
going  the  road' ;  but  just  then  a  good  card 
came  to  him,  and  he  played  it  out,  and  all 
the  money  began  to  come  to  him.  And 
once  he  thought  of  Mary  Lavelle,  and  he 
sighed ;  and  that  time  his  luck  went  from 
him,  and  he  forgot  her  again. 

But  at  last  the  luck  went  to  the  old  man 
and  it  stayed  with  him,  and  all  they  had 
flowed  into  him,  and  he  began  to  laugh 
little  laughs  to  himself,  and  to  sing  over 
and  over  to  himself,  'Spades  and  Dia- 
monds, Courage  and  Power,'  and  so  on,  as 
if  it  was  a  verse  of  a  song. 


10       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

And  after  a  while  anyone  looking  at  the 
men,  and  seeing  the  way  their  bodies  were 
rocking  to  and  fro,  and  the  way  they  kept 
their  eyes  on  the  old  man's  hands,  would 
think  they  had  drink  taken,  or  that  the 
whole  store  they  had  in  the  world  was  put 
on  the  cards ;  but  that  was  not  so,  for  the 
quart  bottle  had  not  been  disturbed  since 
the  game  began,  and  was  nearly  full  yet, 
and  all  that  was  on  the  game  was  a  few 
sixpenny  bits  and  shillings,  and  maybe  a 
handful  of  coppers. 

'  You  are  good  men  to  win  and  good  men 
to  lose,'  said  the  old  man,  ^you  have  play  in 
your  hearts.'  He  began  then  to  shuffle  the 
cards  and  to  mix  them,  very  quick  and  fast, 
till  at  last  they  could  not  see  them  to  be 
cards  at  all,  but  you  would  think  him  to  be 
making  rings  of  fire  in  the  air,  as  little  lads 
would  make  them  with  whirling  a  lighted 
stick;  and  after  that  it  seemed  to  them 
that  all  the  room  was  dark,  and  they  could 
see  nothing  but  his  hands  and  the  cards. 

And  all  in  a  minute  a  hare  made  a  leap 
out  from  between  his  hands,  and  whether 
it  was  one  of  the  cards  that  took  that  shape, 


RED  HANRAHAN  11 

or  whether  it  was  made  out  of  nothing  in 
the  palms  of  his  hands,  nobody  knew,  but 
there  it  was  running  on  the  floor  of  the 
barn,  as  quick  as  any  hare  that  ever  lived. 

Some  looked  at  the  hare,  but  more  kept 
their  eyes  on  the  old  man,  and  while  they 
were  looking  at  him  a  hound  made  a  leap 
out  between  his  hands,  the  same  way  as  the 
hare  did,  and  after  that  another  hound  and 
another,  till  there  was  a  whole  pack  of  them 
following  the  hare  round  and  round  the 
barn. 

The  players  were  all  standing  up  now, 
with  their  backs  to  the  boards,  shrinking 
from  the  hounds,  and  nearly  deafened  with 
the  noise  of  their  yelping,  but  as  quick  as 
the  hounds  were  they  could  not  overtake 
the  hare,  but  it  went  round,  till  at  the  last 
it  seemed  as  if  a  blast  of  wind  burst  open 
the  barn  door,  and  the  hare  doubled  and 
made  a  leap  over  the  boards  where  the  men 
had  been  playing,  and  went  out  of  the  door 
and  away  through  the  night,  and  the 
hounds  over  the  boards  and  through  the 
door  after  it. 

Then  the  old  man  called  out,  '  Follow  the 


12        STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

hounds,  follow  the  hounds,  and  it  is  a  great 
hunt  you  will  see  to-night,'  and  he  went  out 
after  them.  But  used  as  the  men  were  to 
go  hunting  after  hares,  and  ready  as  they 
were  for  any  sport,  they  were  in  dread  to  go 
out  into  the  night,  and  it  was  only  Hanra- 
han  that  rose  up  and  that  said,  'I  will 
follow,  I  will  follow  on.' 

'You  had  best  stop  here,  Hanrahan,'  the 
young  man  that  was  nearest  him  said,  '  for 
you  might  be  going  into  some  great  danger.' 
But  Hanrahan  said,  'I  will  see  fair  play,  I 
will  see  fair  play,'  and  he  went  stumbling 
out  of  the  door  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  and 
the  door  shut  after  him  as  he  went. 

He  thought  he  saw  the  old  man  in  front 
of  him,  but  it  was  only  his  own  shadow  that 
the  full  moon  cast  on  the  road  before  him, 
but  he  could  hear  the  hounds  crying  after 
the  hare  over  the  wide  green  fields  of 
Granagh,  and  he  followed  them  very  fast 
for  there  was  nothing  to  stop  him;  and 
after  a  while  he  came  to  smaller  fields  that 
had  little  walls  of  loose  stones  around  them, 
and  he  threw  the  stones  down  as  he  crossed 
them,  and  did  not  wait  to  put  them  up 


RED  HANRAHAN  13 

again ;  and  he  passed  by  the  place  where 
the  river  goes  under  ground  at  Ballylee, 
and  he  could  hear  the  hounds  going  before 
him  up  towards  the  head  of  the  river. 
Soon  he  found  it  harder  to  run,  for  it  was 
uphill  he  was  going,  and  clouds  came  over 
the  moon,  and  it  was  hard  for  him  to  see  his 
way,  and  once  he  left  the  path  to  take  a 
short  cut,  but  his  foot  slipped  into  a  bog- 
hole  and  he  had  to  come  back  to  it.  And 
how  long  he  was  going  he  did  not  know,  or 
what  way  he  went,  but  at  last  he  was  up  on 
the  bare  mountain,  with  nothing  but  the 
rough  heather  about  him,  and  he  could 
neither  hear  the  hounds  nor  any  other 
thing.  But  their  cry  began  to  come  to  him 
again,  at  first  far  off  and  then  very  near, 
and  when  it  came  quite  close  to  him,  it 
went  up  all  of  a  sudden  into  the  air,  and 
there  was  the  sound  of  hunting  over  his 
head ;  then  it  went  away  northward  till  he 
could  hear  nothing  more  at  all.  'That's 
not  fair,'  he  said,  that's  not  fair.'  And 
he  could  walk  no  longer,  but  sat  down  on 
the  heather  where  he  was,  in  the  heart  of 
Slieve  Echtge,   for  all   the  strength  had 


14       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

gone  from  him,  with  the  dint  of  the  long 
journey  he  had  made. 

And  after  a  while  he  took  notice  that 
there  was  a  door  close  to  him,  and  a  light 
coming  from  it,  and  he  wondered  that  being 
so  close  to  him  he  had  not  seen  it  before. 
And  he  rose  up,  and  tired  as  he  was  he  went 
in  at  the  door,  and  although  it  was  night 
time  outside,  it  was  daylight  he  found 
within.  And  presently  he  met  with  an  old 
man  that  had  been  gathering  summer 
thyme  and  yellow  flag-flowers,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  all  the  sweet  smells  of  the 
summer  were  with  them.  And  the  old 
man  said  :  '  It  is  a  long  time  you  have  been 
coming  to  us,  Hanrahan  the  learned  man 
and  the  great  songmaker.' 

And  with  that  he  brought  him  into  a  very 
big  shining  house,  and  every  grand  thing 
Hanrahan  had  ever  heard  of,  and  every 
colour  he  had  ever  seen,  were  in  it.  There 
was  a  high  place  at  the  end  of  the  house, 
and  on  it  there  was  sitting  in  a  high  chair  a 
woman,  the  most  beautiful  the  world  ever 
saw,  having  a  long  pale  face  and  flowers 
about  it,  but  she  had  the  tired  look  of  one 


RED  HANRAHAN  15 

that  had  been  long  waiting.  And  there 
was  sitting  on  the  step  below  her  chair  four 
grey  old  women,  and  the  one  of  them  was 
holding  a  great  cauldron  in  her  lap;  and 
another  a  great  stone  on  her  knees,  and 
heavy  as  it  was  it  seemed  light  to  her ;  and 
another  of  them  had  a  very  long  spear  that 
was  made  of  pointed  wood  ;  and  the  last  of 
them  had  a  sword  that  was  without  a 
scabbard. 

Hanrahan  stood  looking  at  them  for  a 
long  time,  but  none  of  them  spoke  any  word 
to  him  or  looked  at  him  at  all.  And  he 
had  it  in  his  mind  to  ask  who  that  woman 
in  the  chair  was,  that  was  like  a  queen,  and 
what  she  was  waiting  for ;  but  ready  as  he 
was  with  his  tongue  and  afraid  of  no  person, 
he  was  in  dread  now  to  speak  to  so  beauti- 
ful a  woman,  and  in  so  grand  a  place.  And 
then  he  thought  to  ask  what  were  the  four 
things  the  four  grey  old  women  were  hold- 
ing like  great  treasures,  but  he  could  not 
think  of  the  right  words  to  bring  out. 

Then  the  first  of  the  old  women  rose  up, 
holding  the  cauldron  between  her  two 
hands,  and  she  said  '  Pleasure,'  and  Hanra- 


16       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

han  said  no  word.  Then  the  second  old 
woman  rose  up  with  the  stone  in  her  hands, 
and  she  said  '  Power ' ;  and  the  third  old 
woman  rose  up  with  the  spear  in  her  hand, 
and  she  said  '  Courage ' ;  and  the  last  of  the 
old  women  rose  up  having  the  sword  in  her 
hands,  and  she  said  'Knowledge.'  And 
everyone,  after  she  had  spoken,  waited  as 
if  for  Hanrahan  to  question  her,  but  he 
said  nothing  at  all.  And  then  the  four  old 
women  went  out  of  the  door,  bringing  their 
four  treasures  with  them,  and  as  they  went 
out  one  of  them  said,  'He  has  no  wish 
for  us';  and  another  said,  'He  is  weak, 
he  is  weak';  and  another  said,  'He  is 
afraid ' ;  and  the  last  said,  '  His  wits  are 
gone  from  him.'  And  then  they  all  said, 
'Echtge,  daughter  of  the  Silver  Hand, 
must  stay  in  her  sleep.  It  is  a  pity,  it  is  a 
great  pity.' 

And  then  the  woman  that  was  like  a 
queen  gave  a  very  sad  sigh,  and  it  seemed 
to  Hanrahan  as  if  the  sigh  had  the  sound 
in  it  of  hidden  streams ;  and  if  the  place 
he  was  in  had  been  ten  times  grander  and 
more  shining  than  it  was,  he  could  not  have 


RED  HANRAHAN  17 

hindered  sleep  from  coming  on  him;  and 
he  staggered  hke  a  drunken  man  and  lay 
down  there  and  then. 

When  Hanrahan  awoke,  the  sun  was 
shining  on  his  face,  but  there  was  white 
frost  on  the  grass  around  him,  and  there 
was  ice  on  the  edge  of  the  stream  he  was 
lying  by,  and  that  goes  running  on  through 
Daire-caol  and  Druim-da-rod.  He  knew 
by  the  shape  of  the  hills  and  by  the  shining 
of  Lough  Greine  in  the  distance  that  he  was 
upon  one  of  the  hills  of  Slieve  Echtge,  but 
he  was  not  sure  how  he  came  there;  for 
all  that  had  happened  in  the  barn  had  gone 
from  him,  and  all  of  his  journey  but  the 
soreness  of  his  feet  and  the  stiffness  in  his 
bones. 

It  was  a  year  after  that,  there  were  men 
of  the  village  of  Cappaghtagle  sitting  by  the 
fire  in  a  house  on  the  roadside,  and  Red 
Hanrahan  that  was  now  very  thin  and 
worn  and  his  hair  very  long  and  wild,  came 
to  the  half-door  and  asked  leave  to  come 
in  and  rest  himself ;  and  they  bid  him 
welcome  because   it  was   Samhain   night. 


18       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

He  sat  down  with  them,  and  they  gave 
him  a  glass  of  whiskey  out  of  a  quart 
bottle ;  and  they  saw  the  little  inkpot  hang- 
ing about  his  neck,  and  knew  he  was  a 
scholar,  and  asked  for  stories  about  the 
Greeks. 

He  took  the  Virgil  out  of  the  big  pocket 
of  his  coat,  but  the  cover  was  very  black 
and  swollen  with  the  wet,  and  the  page 
when  he  opened  it  was  very  yellow,  but 
that  was  no  great  matter,  for  he  looked  at 
it  like  a  man  that  had  never  learned  to  read. 
Some  young  man  that  was  there  began  to 
laugh  at  him  then,  and  to  ask  why  did  he 
carry  so  heavy  a  book  with  him  when  he 
was  not  able  to  read  it. 

It  vexed  Hanrahan  to  hear  that,  and  he 
put  the  Virgil  back  in  his  pocket  and  asked 
if  they  had  a  pack  of  cards  among  them, 
for  cards  were  better  than  books.  When 
they  brought  out  the  cards  he  took  them 
and  began  to  shuffle  them,  and  while  he 
was  shuffling  them  something  seemed  to 
come  into  his  mind,  and  he  put  his  hand  to 
his  face  like  one  that  is  trying  to  remember, 
and  he  said :    '  Was  I  ever  here  before,  or 


RED  HANRAHAN  19 

where  was  I  on  a  night  Uke  this  ? '  and  then 
of  a  sudden  he  stood  up  and  let  the  cards 
fall  to  the  floor,  and  he  said,  'Who  was  it 
brought  me  a  message  from  Mary  Lavelle  ? ' 

'We  never  saw  you  before  now,  and  we 
never  heard  of  Mary  Lavelle,'  said  the 
man  of  the  house.  'And  who  is  she/  he 
said, '  and  what  is  it  you  are  talking  about  ? ' 

'  It  was  this  night  a  year  ago,  I  was  in  a 
barn,  and  there  were  men  playing  cards, 
and  there  was  money  on  the  table,  they 
were  pushing  it  from  one  to  another  here 
and  there  —  and  I  got  a  message,  and  I  was 
going  out  of  the  door  to  look  for  my  sweet- 
heart that  wanted  me,  Mary  Lavelle.' 
And  then  Hanrahan  called  out  very  loud : 
'  Where  have  I  been  since  then  ?  Where 
was  I  for  the  whole  year  ? ' 

'It  is  hard  to  say  where  you  might  have 
been  in  that  time,'  said  the  oldest  of  the 
men,  'or  what  part  of  the  world  you  may 
have  travelled ;  and  it  is  like  enough  you 
have  the  dust  of  many  roads  on  your  feet ; 
for  there  are  many  go  wandering  and  for- 
getting like  that,'  he  said,  'when  once  they 
have  been  given  the  touch.' 


20       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

'That  is  true/  said  another  of  the  men. 
'  I  knew  a  woman  went  wandering  hke  that 
through  the  length  of  seven  years ;  she 
came  back  after,  and  she  told  her  friends 
she  had  often  been  glad  enough  to  eat  the 
food  that  was  put  in  the  pig's  trough. 
And  it  is  best  for  you  to  go  to  the  priest 
now,'  he  said,  'and  let  him  take  off  you 
whatever  may  have  been  put  upon  you.' 

'It  is  to  my  sweetheart  I  will  go,  to  Mary 
Lavelle,'  said  Hanrahan;  'it  is  too  long  I 
have  delayed,  how  do  I  know  what  might 
have  happened  her  in  the  length  of  a  year  ? ' 

He  was  going  out  of  the  door  then,  but 
they  all  told  him  it  was  best  for  him  to  stop 
the  night,  and  to  get  strength  for  the 
journey;  and  indeed  he  wanted  that,  for 
he  was  very  weak,  and  when  they  gave  him 
food  he  eat  it  like  a  man  that  had  never 
seen  food  before,  and  one  of  them  said, 
'He  is  eating  as  if  he  had  trodden  on  the 
hungry  grass.'  It  was  in  the  white  light 
of  the  morning  he  set  out,  and  the  time 
seemed  long  to  him  till  he  could  get  to 
Mary  Lavelle's  house.  But  when  he  came 
to  it,  he  found  the  door  broken,  and  the 


RED  HANRAHAN  21 

thatch  dropping  from  the  roof,  and  no 
hving  person  to  be  seen.  And  when  he 
asked  the  neighbours  what  had  happened 
her,  all  they  could  say  was  that  she  had 
been  put  out  of  the  house,  and  had  married 
some  labouring  man,  and  they  had  gone 
looking  for  work  to  London  or  Liverpool 
or  some  big  place.  And  whether  she  found 
a  worse  place  or  a  better  he  never  knew, 
but  anyway  he  never  met  with  her  or  with 
news  of  her  again. 


THE  TWISTING  OF  THE  ROPE 

Hanrahan  was  walking  the  roads  one 
time  near  Kinvara  at  the  fall  of  day,  and  he 
heard  the  sound  of  a  fiddle  from  a  house  a 
little  way  off  the  roadside.  He  turned  up 
the  path  to  it,  for  he  never  had  the  habit  of 
passing  by  any  place  where  there  was  music 
or  dancing  or  good  company,  without 
going  in.  The  man  of  the  house  was  stand- 
ing at  the  door,  and  when  Hanrahan  came 
near  he  knew  him  and  he  said  :  '  A  welcome 
before  you,  Hanrahan,  you  have  been  lost 
to  us  this  long  time.'  But  the  woman  of 
the  house  came  to  the  door  and  she  said  to 
her  husband :  '  I  would  be  as  well  pleased 
for  Hanrahan  not  to  come  in  to-night,  for 
he  has  no  good  name  now  among  the 
priests,  or  with  women  that  mind  them- 
selves, and  I  wouldn't  wonder  from  his 
walk  if  he  has  a  drop  of  drink  taken.' 
But  the  man  said,  '  I  will  never  turn  away 
22 


THE  TWISTING  OF  THE  ROPE       23 

Hanrahan  of  the  poets  from  my  door/ 
and  with  that  he  bade  him  enter. 

There  were  a  good  many  neighbours 
gathered  in  the  house,  and  some  of  them 
remembered  Hanrahan ;  but  some  of  the 
httle  lads  that  were  in  the  corners  had  only 
heard  of  him,  and  they  stood  up  to  have  a 
view  of  him,  and  one  of  them  said  :  '  Is  not 
that  Hanrahan  that  had  the  school,  and 
that  was  brought  away  by  Them?'  But 
his  mother  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth 
and  bade  him  be  quiet,  and  not  be  saying 
things  like  that.  'For  Hanrahan  is  apt 
to  grow  wicked,'  she  said,  'if  he  hears  talk 
of  that  story,  or  if  anyone  goes  questioning 
him.'  One  or  another  called  out  then, 
asking  him  for  a  song,  but  the  man  of  the 
house  said  it  was  no  time  to  ask  him  for  a 
song,  before  he  had  rested  himself;  and 
he  gave  him  whiskey  in  a  glass,  and  Hanra- 
han thanked  him  and  wished  him  good 
health  and  drank  it  off. 

The  fiddler  was  tuning  his  fiddle  for 
another  dance,  and  the  man  of  the  house 
said  to  the  young  men,  they  would  all 
know  what  dancing  was  like  when  they  saw 


24       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

Hanrahan  dance,  for  the  like  of  it  had  never 
been  seen  since  he  was  there  before.  Han- 
rahan said  he  would  not  dance,  he  had 
better  use  for  his  feet  now,  travelling  as  he 
was  through  the  five  provinces  of  Ireland. 
Just  as  he  said  that,  there  came  in  at  the 
half-door  Oona,  the  daughter  of  the  house, 
having  a  few  bits  of  bog  deal  from  Conne- 
mara  in  her  arms  for  the  fire.  She  threw 
them  on  the  hearth  and  the  flame  rose  up, 
and  showed  her  to  be  very  comely  and 
smiling,  and  two  or  three  of  the  young  men 
rose  up  and  asked  for  a  dance.  But  Han- 
rahan crossed  the  floor  and  brushed  the 
others  away,  and  said  it  was  with  him  she 
must  dance,  after  the  long  road  he  had 
travelled  before  he  came  to  her.  And  it  is 
likely  he  said  some  soft  word  in  her  ear,  for 
she  said  nothing  against  it,  and  stood  out 
with  him,  and  there  were  little  blushes  in 
her  cheeks.  Then  other  couples  stood  up, 
but  when  the  dance  was  going  to  begin, 
Hanrahan  chanced  to  look  down,  and  he 
took  notice  of  his  boots  that  were  worn  and 
broken,  and  the  ragged  grey  socks  showing 
through  them ;  and  he  said  angrily  it  was 


THE  TWISTING  OF  THE  ROPE       25 

a  bad  floor,  and  the  music  no  great  things, 
and  he  sat  down  in  the  dark  place  beside 
the  hearth.  But  if  he  did,  the  girl  sat 
down  there  with  him. 

The  dancing  went  on,  and  when  that 
dance  was  over  another  was  called  for,  and 
no  one  took  much  notice  of  Oona  and  Red 
Hanrahan  for  a  while,  in  the  corner  where 
they  were.  But  the  mother  grew  to  be 
uneasy,  and  she  called  to  Oona  to  come  and 
help  her  to  set  the  table  in  the  inner  room. 
But  Oona  that  had  never  refused  her  before, 
said  she  would  come  soon,  but  not  yet,  for 
she  was  Hstening  to  whatever  he  was  saying 
in  her  ear.  The  mother  grew  yet  more 
uneasy  then,  and  she  would  come  nearer 
them,  and  let  on  to  be  stirring  the  fire  or 
sweeping  the  hearth,  and  she  would  listen 
for  a  minute  to  hear  what  the  poet  was  say- 
ing to  her  child.  And  one  time  she  heard 
him  telling  about  white-handed  Deirdre, 
and  how  she  brought  the  sons  of  Usnach  to 
their  death;  and  how  the  blush  in  her 
cheeks  was  not  so  red  as  the  blood  of  kings' 
sons  that  was  shed  for  her,  and  her  sorrows 
had  never  gone  out  of  mind ;  and  he  said  it 


26       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

was  maybe  the  memory  of  her  that  made 
the  cry  of  the  plover  on  the  bog  as  sorrow- 
ful in  the  ear  of  the  poets  as  the  keening  of 
young  men  for  a  comrade.  And  there 
would  never  have  been  that  memory  of  her, 
he  said,  if  it  was  not  for  the  poets  that  had 
put  her  beauty  in  their  songs.  And  the 
next  time  she  did  not  well  understand  what 
he  was  saying,  but  as  far  as  she  could  hear, 
it  had  the  sound  of  poetry  though  it  was 
not  rhymed,  and  this  is  what  she  heard 
him  say :  '  The  sun  and  the  moon  are  the 
man  and  the  girl,  they  are  my  life  and  your 
life,  they  are  travelling  and  ever  travelling 
through  the  skies  as  if  under  the  one  hood. 
It  was  God  made  them  for  one  another. 
He  made  your  life  and  my  life  before  the 
beginning  of  the  world,  he  made  them  that 
they  might  go  through  the  world,  up  and 
down,  like  the  two  best  dancers  that  go  on 
with  the  dance  up  and  down  the  long  floor 
of  the  barn,  fresh  and  laughing,  when  all 
the  rest  are  tired  out  and  leaning  against 
the  wall.' 

The  old  woman  went  then  to  where  her 
husband  was  playing  cards,  but  he  would 


THE   TWISTING  OF  THE  ROPE       27 

take  no  notice  of  her,  and  then  she  went  to 
a  woman  of  the  neighbours  and  said :  '  Is 
there  no  way  we  can  get  them  from  one 
another  ?'  and  without  waiting  for  an  an- 
swer she  said  to  some  young  men  that  were 
talking  together :  '  What  a  good  are  you 
when  you  cannot  make  the  best  girl  in  the 
house  come  out  and  dance  with  you? 
And  go  now  the  whole  of  you/  she  said, 
'and  see  can  you  bring  her  away  from  the 
poet's  talk.'  But  Oona  would  not  hsten  to 
any  of  them,  but  only  moved  her  hand  as  if 
to  send  them  away.  Then  they  called  to 
Hanrahan  and  said  he  had  best  dance  with 
the  girl  himself,  or  let  her  dance  with  one  of 
them.  When  Hanrahan  heard  what  they 
were  saying  he  said :  '  That  is  so,  I  will 
dance  with  her;  there  is  no  man  in  the 
house  must  dance  with  her  but  myself.' 

He  stood  up  with  her  then,  and  led  her 
out  by  the  hand,  and  some  of  the  young 
men  were  vexed,  and  some  began  mocking 
at  his  ragged  coat  and  his  broken  boots. 
But  he  took  no  notice,  and  Oona  took  no 
notice,  but  they  looked  at  one  another  as  if 
all  the  world  belonged  to  themselves  alone. 


28       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

But  another  couple  that  had  been  sitting 
together  Hke  lovers  stood  out  on  the  floor 
at  the  same  time,  holding  one  another's 
hands  and  moving  their  feet  to  keep  time 
with  the  music.  But  Hanrahan  turned  his 
back  on  them  as  if  angry,  and  in  place  of 
dancing  he  began  to  sing,  and  as  he  sang  he 
held  her  hand,  and  his  voice  grew  louder, 
and  the  mocking  of  the  young  men  stopped, 
and  the  fiddle  stopped,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing heard  but  his  voice  that  had  in  it  the 
sound  of  the  wind.  And  what  he  sang  was 
a  song  he  had  heard  or  had  made  one  time 
in  his  wanderings  on  Slieve  Echtge,  and  the 
words  of  it  as  they  can  be  put  into  English 
were  like  this : 

O  Death's  old  bony  finger 

Will  never  find  us  there 

In  the  high  hollow  townland 

Where  love's  to  give  and  to  spare ; 

Where  boughs  have  fruit  and  blossom 

At  all  times  of  the  year ; 

Where  rivers  are  running  over 

With  red  beer  and  brown  beer. 

An  old  man  plays  the  bagpipes 

In  a  gold  and  silver  wood ; 


THE  TWISTING  OF  THE  ROPE       29 

Queens,  their  eyes  blue  like  the  ice, 
Are  dancing  in  a  crowd. 

And  while  he  was  singing  it  Oona  moved 
nearer  to  him,  and  the  colour  had  gone 
from  her  cheek,  and  her  eyes  were  not  blue 
now,  but  grey  with  the  tears  that  were  in 
them,  and  anyone  that  saw  her  would 
have  thought  she  was  ready  to  follow  him 
there  and  then  from  the  west  to  the  east  of 
the  world. 

But  one  of  the  young  men  called  out : 
'  Where  is  that  country  he  is  singing  about  ? 
Mind  yourself,  Oona,  it  is  a  long  way  off, 
you  might  be  a  long  time  on  the  road  before 
you  would  reach  to  it,'  And  another  said  : 
'  It  is  not  to  the  Country  of  the  Young  you 
will  be  going  if  you  go  with  him,  but  to 
Mayo  of  the  bogs.'  Oona  looked  at  him 
then  as  if  she  would  question  him,  but  he 
raised  her  hand  in  his  hand,  and  called  out 
between  singing  and  shouting :  '  It  is  very 
near  us  that  country  is,  it  is  on  every  side ; 
it  may  be  on  the  bare  hill  behind  it  is,  or 
it  may  be  in  the  heart  of  the  wood.'  And 
he  said  out  very  loud  and  clear:  'In  the 
heart  of  the  wood ;    oh,  death  will  never 


30       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

find  us  in  the  heart  of  the  wood.  And  will 
you  come  with  me  there,  Oona  ? '  he  said. 

But  while  he  was  saying  this  the  two  old 
women  had  gone  outside  the  door,  and 
Oona's  mother  was  crying,  and  she  said : 
'He  has  put  an  enchantment  on  Oona. 
Can  we  not  get  the  men  to  put  him  out  of 
the  house  ? ' 

'That  is  a  thing  you  cannot  do,'  said  the 
other  woman,  'for  he  is  a  poet  of  the  Gael, 
and  you  know  well  if  you  would  put  a  poet 
of  the  Gael  out  of  the  house,  he  would  put 
a  curse  on  you  that  would  wither  the  corn  in 
the  fields  and  dry  up  the  milk  of  the  cows, 
if  it  had  to  hang  in  the  air  seven  years.' 

'God  help  us,'  said  the  mother,  'and  why 
did  I  ever  let  him  into  the  house  at  all,  and 
the  wild  name  he  has  !' 

'It  would  have  been  no  harm  at  all  to 
have  kept  him  outside,  but  there  would 
great  harm  come  upon  you  if  you  put  him 
out  by  force.  But  listen  to  the  plan  I  have 
to  get  him  out  of  the  house  by  his  own 
doing,  without  anyone  putting  him  from 
it  at  all.' 

It  was  not  long  after  that  the  two  women 


THE  TWISTING  OF  THE  ROPE       31 

came  in  again,  each  of  them  having  a 
bundle  of  hay  in  her  apron.  Hanrahan 
was  not  singing  now,  but  he  was  talking 
to  Oona  very  fast  and  soft,  and  he  was 
saying :  '  The  house  is  narrow  but  the 
world  is  wide,  and  there  is  no  true  lover 
that  need  be  afraid  of  night  or  morning  or 
sun  or  stars  or  shadows  of  evening,  or  any 
earthly  thing.'  'Hanrahan,'  said  the 
mother  then,  striking  him  on  the  shoulder, 
'will  you  give  me  a  hand  here  for  a  min- 
ute?' 'Do  that,  Hanrahan,'  said  the 
woman  of  the  neighbours,  'and  help  us  to 
make  this  hay  into  a  rope,  for  you  are  ready 
with  your  hands,  and  a  blast  of  wind  has 
loosened  the  thatch  on  the  haystack.' 

'I  will  do  that  for  you,'  said  he,  and  he 
took  the  little  stick  in  his  hands,  and  the 
mother  began  giving  out  the  hay,  and  he 
twisting  it,  but  he  was  hurrying  to  have 
done  with  it,  and  to  be  free  again.  The 
women  went  on  talking  and  giving  out  the 
hay,  and  encouraging  him,  and  saying  what 
a  good  twister  of  a  rope  he  was,  better  than 
their  own  neighbours  or  than  any  one  they 
had  ever  seen.     And  Hanrahan  saw  that 


32       STORIES  OF  RED  HAN  RAH  AN 

Oona  was  watching  him,  and  he  began  to 
twist  very  quick  and  with  his  head  high, 
and  to  boast  of  the  readiness  of  his  hands, 
and  the  learning  he  had  in  his  head,  and 
the  strength  in  his  arms.  And  as  he  was 
boasting,  he  went  backward,  twisting  the 
rope  always  till  he  came  to  the  door  that 
was  open  behind  him,  and  without  thinking 
he  passed  the  threshold  and  was  out  on  the 
road.  And  no  sooner  was  he  there  than 
the  mother  made  a  sudden  rush,  and  threw 
out  the  rope  after  him,  and  she  shut  the 
door  and  the  half-door  and  put  a  bolt  upon 
them. 

She  was  well  pleased  when  she  had  done 
that,  and  laughed  out  loud,  and  the  neigh- 
bours laughed  and  praised  her.  But  they 
heard  him  beating  at  the  door,  and  saying 
words  of  cursing  outside  it,  and  the  mother 
had  but  time  to  stop  Oona  that  had  her 
hand  upon  the  bolt  to  open  it.  She  made 
a  sign  to  the  fiddler  then,  and  he  began  a 
reel,  and  one  of  the  young  men  asked  no 
leave  but  caught  hold  of  Oona  and  brought 
her  into  the  thick  of  the  dance.  And  when 
it  was  over  and  the  fiddle  had  stopped, 


THE  TWISTING  OF  THE  ROPE       33 

there  was  no  sound  at  all  of  anything  out- 
side, but  the  road  was  as  quiet  as  before. 

As  to  Hanrahan,  when  he  knew  he  was 
shut  out  and  that  there  was  neither  shelter 
nor  drink  nor  a  girl's  ear  for  him  that 
night,  the  anger  and  the  courage  went  out 
of  him,  and  he  went  on  to  where  the  waves 
were  beating  on  the  strand. 

He  sat  down  on  a  big  stone,  and  he  began 
swinging  his  right  arm  and  singing  slowly  to 
himself,  the  way  he  did  always  to  hearten 
himself  when  every  other  thing  failed  him. 
And  whether  it  was  that  time  or  another 
time  he  made  the  song  that  is  called  to  this 
day  'The  Twisting  of  the  Rope,'  and  that 
begins,  'What  was  the  dead  cat  that  put 
me  in  this  place,'  is  not  known. 

But  after  he  had  been  singing  awhile, 
mist  and  shadows  seemed  to  gather  about 
him,  sometimes  coming  out  of  the  sea,  and 
sometimes  moving  upon  it.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  one  of  the  shadows  was  the  queen- 
woman  he  had  seen  in  her  sleep  at  SHeve 
Echtge  ;  not  in  her  sleep  now,  but  mocking, 
and  calling  out  to  them  that  were  behind 
her :  '  He  was  weak,  he  was  weak,  he  had  no 


34       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

courage.'  And  he  felt  the  strands  of  the 
rope  in  his  hand  yet,  and  went  on  twisting 
it,  but  it  seemed  to  him  as  he  twisted,  that 
it  had  all  the  sorrows  of  the  world  in  it. 
And  then  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  rope  had 
changed  in  his  dream  into  a  great  water- 
worm  that  came  out  of  the  sea,  and  that 
twisted  itself  about  him,  and  held  him 
closer  and  closer,  and  grew  from  big  to 
bigger  till  the  whole  of  the  earth  and  skies 
were  wound  up  in  it,  and  the  stars  them- 
selves were  but  the  shining  of  the  ridges  of 
its  skin.  And  then  he  got  free  of  it,  and 
went  on,  shaking  and  unsteady,  along  the 
edge  of  the  strand,  and  the  grey  shapes 
were  flying  here  and  there  around  him. 
And  this  is  what  they  were  saying,  'It  is  a 
pity  for  him  that  refuses  the  call  of  the 
daughters  of  the  Sidhe,  for  he  will  find  no 
comfort  in  the  love  of  the  women  of  the 
earth  to  the  end  of  life  and  time,  and  the 
cold  of  the  grave  is  in  his  heart  for  ever. 
It  is  death  he  has  chosen ;  let  him  die,  let 
him  die,  let  him  die.' 


HANRAHAN  AND  CATHLEEN  THE 
DAUGHTER   OF  HOOLIHAN 

It  was  travelling  northward  Hanrahan 
was  one  time,  giving  a  hand  to  a  farmer  now 
and  again  in  the  hurried  time  of  the  year, 
and  telling  his  stories  and  making  his  share 
of  songs  at  wakes  and  at  weddings. 

He  chanced  one  day  to  overtake  on  the 
road  to  Collooney  one  Margaret  Rooney,  a 
woman  he  used  to  know  in  Munster  when 
he  was  a  young  man.  She  had  no  good 
name  at  that  time,  and  it  was  the  priest 
routed  her  out  of  the  place  at  last.  He 
knew  her  by  her  walk  and  by  the  colour 
of  her  eyes,  and  by  a  way  she  had  of  putting 
back  the  hair  off  her  face  with  her  left  hand. 
She  had  been  wandering  about,  she  said, 
selling  herrings  and  the  like,  and  now  she 
was  going  back  to  Sligo,  to  the  place  in 
the  Burrough  where  she  was  living  with 
another  woman,  Mary  Gillis,  who  had 
much  the  same  story  as  herself.  She  would 
35 


36       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

be  well  pleased,  she  said,  if  he  would  come 
and  stop  in  the  house  with  them,  and  be 
singing  his  songs  to  the  bacachs  and  blind 
men  and  fiddlers  of  the  Burrough.  She 
remembered  him  well,  she  said,  and  had  a 
wish  for  him ;  and  as  to  Mary  Gillis,  she 
had  some  of  his  songs  off  by  heart,  so  he 
need  not  be  afraid  of  not  getting  good 
treatment,  and  all  the  bacachs  and  poor 
men  that  heard  him  would  give  him  a  share 
of  their  own  earnings  for  his  stories  and 
his  songs  while  he  was  with  them,  and 
would  carry  his  name  into  all  the  parishes 
of  Ireland. 

He  was  glad  enough  to  go  with  her,  and 
to  find  a  woman  to  be  listening  to  the  story 
of  his  troubles  and  to  be  comforting  him. 
It  was  at  the  moment  of  the  fall  of  day 
when  every  man  may  pass  as  handsome 
and  every  woman  as  comely.  She  put  her 
arm  about  him  when  he  told  her  of  the 
misfortune  of  the  Twisting  of  the  Rope, 
and  in  the  half  light  she  looked  as  well  as 
another. 

They  kept  in  talk  all  the  way  to  the 
Burrough,  and  as  for  Mary  Gillis,  when  she 


HAN  RAH  AN  AND  CATHLEEN         37 

saw  him  and  heard  who  he  was,  she  went 
near  crying  to  think  of  having  a  man  with 
so  great  a  name  in  the  house. 

Hanrahan  was  well  pleased  to  settle 
down  with  them  for  a  while,  for  he  was 
tired  with  wandering ;  and  since  the  day 
he  found  the  little  cabin  fallen  in,  and  Mary 
Lavelle  gone  from  it,  and  the  thatch 
scattered,  he  had  never  asked  to  have  any 
place  of  his  own ;  and  he  had  never 
stopped  long  enough  in  any  place  to  see 
the  green  leaves  come  where  he  had  seen 
the  old  leaves  wither,  or  to  see  the  wheat 
harvested  where  he  had  seen  it  sown.  It 
was  a  good  change  to  him  to  have  shelter 
from  the  wet,  and  a  fire  in  the  evening  time, 
and  his  share  of  food  put  on  the  table  with- 
out the  asking. 

He  made  a  good  many  of  his  songs  while 
he  was  living  there,  so  well  cared  for  and 
so  quiet.  The  most  of  them  were  love 
songs,  but  some  were  songs  of  repentance, 
and  some  were  songs  about  Ireland  and 
her  griefs,  under  one  name  or  another. 

Every  evening  the  bacachs  and  beggars 
and  blind  men  and  fiddlers  would  gather 


38       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

into  the  house  and  hsten  to  his  songs  and 
his  poems,  and  his  stories  about  the  old 
time  of  the  Fianna,  and  they  kept  them 
in  their  memories  that  were  never  spoiled 
with  books  ;  and  so  they  brought  his  name 
to  every  wake  and  wedding  and  pattern 
in  the  whole  of  Connaught.  He  was 
never  so  well  off  or  made  so  much  of  as  he 
was  at  that  time. 

One  evening  of  December  he  was  singing 
a  little  song  that  he  said  he  had  heard  from 
the  green  plover  of  the  mountain,  about 
the  fair-haired  boys  that  had  left  Limerick, 
and  that  were  wandering  and  going  astray 
in  all  parts  of  the  world.  There  were  a 
good  many  people  in  the  room  that  night, 
and  two  or  three  little  lads  that  had  crept 
in,  and  sat  on  the  floor  near  the  fire,  and 
were  too  busy  with  the  roasting  of  a  potato 
in  the  ashes  or  some  such  thing  to  take 
much  notice  of  him  ;  but  they  remembered 
long  afterwards  when  his  name  had  gone 
up,  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  what  way 
he  had  moved  his  hand,  and  the  look  of 
him  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  with 
his  shadow  falling  on  the  whitewashed  wall 


HANRAHAN  AND  CATHLEEN         39 

behind  him,  and  as  he  moved  going  up  as 
high  as  the  thatch.  And  they  knew  then 
that  they  had  looked  upon  a  king  of  the 
poets  of  the  Gael,  and  a  maker  of  the 
dreams  of  men. 

Of  a  sudden  his  singing  stopped,  and  his 
eyes  grew  misty  as  if  he  was  looking  at 
some  far  thing. 

Mary  Gillis  was  pouring  whiskey  into  a 
mug  that  stood  on  a  table  beside  him,  and 
she  left  off  pouring  and  said,  '  Is  it  of  leav- 
ing us  you  are  thinking  ? ' 

Margaret  Rooney  heard  what  she  said, 
and  did  not  know  why  she  said  it,  and  she 
took  the  words  too  much  in  earnest  and 
came  over  to  him,  and  there  was  dread  in 
her  heart  that  she  was  going  to  lose  so 
wonderful  a  poet  and  so  good  a  comrade, 
and  a  man  that  was  thought  so  much  of, 
and  that  brought  so  many  to  her  house. 

'You  would  not  go  away  from  us,  my 
heart?'  she  said,  catching  him  by  the 
hand. 

'It  is  not  of  that  I  am  thinking,'  he  said, 
'but  of  Ireland  and  the  weight  of  grief 
that  is  on  her.'     And  he  leaned  his  head 


40        STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

against  his  hand,  and  began  to  sing  these 
words,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  was  hke 
the  wind  in  a  lonely  place. 

The  old  brown  thorn  trees  break  in  two  high 

over  Cummen  Strand 
Under  a  bitter  black  wind  that  blows  from  the 

left  hand ; 
Our  courage  breaks  like  an  old  tree  in  a  black 

wind  and  dies, 
But  we  have  hidden  in  our  hearts  the  flame 

out  of  the  eyes 
Of  Cathleen  the  daughter  of  Hoolihan. 

The  winds  was  bundled  up  the  clouds  high  over 

Knocknarea 
And  thrown  the  thunder  on  the  stones  for  all 

that  Maeve  can  say ; 
Angers  that  are  like  noisy  clouds  have  set  our 

hearts  abeat, 
But  we  have  all  bent  low  and  low  and  kissed  the 

quiet  feet 
Of  Cathleen  the  daughter  of  Hoolihan. 

The  yellow  pool  has  overflowed  high  up  on 
Cloothna-Bare, 

For  the  wet  winds  are  blowing  out  of  the  cling- 
ing air ; 


HAN  RAH  AN  AND  CATHLEEN         41 

Like  heavy  flooded  waters  our  bodies  and  our 

blood, 
But  purer  than  a  tall  candle  before  the  Holy 

Rood 
Is  Cathleen  the  daughter  of  Hoolihan. 

While  he  was  singing,  his  voice  began 
to  break,  and  tears  came  rolling  down  his 
cheeks,  and  Margaret  Rooney  put  down 
her  face  into  her  hands  and  began  to  cry 
along  with  him.  Then  a  blind  beggar 
by  the  fire  shook  his  rags  with  a  sob,  and 
after  that  there  was  no  one  of  them  all 
but  cried  tears  down. 


RED  HANRAHAN'S  CURSE 

One  fine  May  morning  a  long  time  after 
Hanrahan  had  left  Margaret  Rooney's 
house,  he  was  walking  the  road  near  Col- 
looney,  and  the  sound  of  the  birds  sing- 
ing in  the  bushes  that  were  white  with 
blossom  set  him  singing  as  he  went.  It 
was  to  his  own  little  place  he  was  going, 
that  was  no  more  than  a  cabin,  but  that 
pleased  him  well.  For  he  was  tired  of  so 
many  years  of  wandering  from  shelter  to 
shelter  at  all  times  of  the  year,  and  al- 
though he  was  seldom  refused  a  welcome 
and  a  share  of  what  was  in  the  house,  it 
seemed  to  him  sometimes  that  his  mind 
was  getting  stiff  like  his  joints,  and  it  was 
not  so  easy  to  him  as  it  used  to  be  to  make 
fun  and  sport  through  the  night,  and  to 
set  all  the  boys  laughing  with  his  pleasant 
talk,  and  to  coax  the  women  with  his  songs. 
And  a  while  ago,  he  had  turned  into  a 
cabin  that  some  poor  man  had  left  to  go 
42 


RED  HANRAHAN'S  CURSE  43 

harvesting  and  had  never  come  to  again. 
And  when  he  had  mended  the  thatch  and 
made  a  bed  in  the  corner  with  a  few  sacks 
and  bushes,  and  had  swept  out  the  floor,  he 
was  well  content  to  have  a  little  place  for 
himself,  where  he  could  go  in  and  out  as 
he  liked,  and  put  his  head  in  his  hands 
through  the  length  of  an  evening  if  the 
fret  was  on  him,  and  loneliness  after  the 
old  times.  One  by  one  the  neighbours 
began  to  send  their  children  in  to  get  some 
learning  from  him,  and  with  what  they 
brought,  a  few  eggs,  or  an  oaten  cake  or 
a  couple  of  sods  of  turf,  he  made  out  a 
way  of  living.  And  if  he  went  for  a  wild 
day  and  night  now  and  again  to  the 
Burrough,  no  one  would  say  a  word,  know- 
ing him  to  be  a  poet,  with  wandering  in 
his  heart. 

It  was  from  the  Burrough  he  was  coming 
that  May  morning,  light-hearted  enough, 
and  singing  some  new  song  that  had  come 
to  him.  But  it  was  not  long  till  a  hare 
ran  across  his  path,  and  made  away  into 
the  fields,  through  the  loose  stones  of 
the  wall.    And  he  knew  it  was  no  good 


44       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

sign  a  hare  to  have  crossed  his  path,  and  he 
remembered  the  hare  that  had  led  him 
away  to  SHeve  Echtge  the  time  Mary 
Lavelle  was  waiting  for  him,  and  how  he 
had  never  known  content  for  any  length 
of  time  since  then.  ^And  it  is  likely 
enough  they  are  putting  some  bad  thing 
before  me  now/  he  said. 

And  after  he  said  that  he  heard  the  sound 
of  crying  in  the  field  beside  him,  and  he 
looked  over  the  wall.  And  there  he  saw 
a  young  girl  sitting  under  a  bush  of  white 
hawthorn,  and  crying  as  if  her  heart  would 
break.  Her  face  was  hidden  in  her  hands, 
but  her  soft  hair  and  her  white  neck  and 
the  young  look  of  her,  put  him  in  mind  of 
Bridget  Purcell  and  Margaret  Gillane 
and  Maeve  Connelan  and  Oona  Curry 
and  Celia  DriscoU,  and  the  rest  of  the  girls 
he  had  made  songs  for  and  had  coaxed 
the  heart  from  with  his  flattering  tongue. 

She  looked  up,  and  he  saw  her  to  be  a 
girl  of  the  neighbours,  a  farmer's  daughter. 
'What  is  on  you,  Nora?'  he  said.  'Noth- 
ing you  could  take  from  me,  Red  Hanra- 
han.'     'If  there  is  any  sorrow  on  you  it 


RED  HANRAHAN'S  CURSE  45 

is  I  myself  should  be  well  able  to  serve 
you,'  he  said  then,  'for  it  is  I  know  the 
history  of  the  Greeks,  and  I  know  well 
what  sorrow  is  and  parting,  and  the  hard- 
ship of  the  world.  And  if  I  am  not  able 
to  save  you  from  trouble,'  he  said,  'there 
is  many  a  one  I  have  saved  from  it  with 
the  power  that  is  in  my  songs,  as  it  was  in 
the  songs  of  the  poets  that  were  before  me 
from  the  beginning  of  the  world.  And  it 
is  with  the  rest  of  the  poets  I  myself  will 
be  sitting  and  talking  in  some  far  place 
beyond  the  world,  to  the  end  of  life  and 
time,'  he  said.  The  girl  stopped  her 
crying,  and  she  said,  'Owen  Hanrahan,  I 
often  heard  you  have  had  sorrow  and 
persecution,  and  that  you  know  all  the 
troubles  of  the  world  since  the  time  you 
refused  your  love  to  the  queen-woman  in 
Slieve  Echtge ;  and  that  she  never  left 
you  in  quiet  since.  But  when  it  is  people 
of  this  earth  that  have  harmed  you,  it  is 
yourself  knows  well  the  way  to  put  harm 
on  them  again.  And  will  you  do  now  what 
I  ask  you,  Owen  Hanrahan?'  she  said. 
'I  will  do  that  indeed,'  said  he. 


46       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

'It  is  my  father  and  my  mother  and  my 
brothers,'  she  said,  'that  are  marrying  me 
to  old  Paddy  Doe,  because  he  has  a  farm 
of  a  hundred  acres  under  the  mountain. 
And  it  is  what  you  can  do,  Hanrahan,' 
she  said,  'put  him  into  a  rhyme  the  same 
way  you  put  old  Peter  Kilmartin  in  one 
the  time  you  were  young,  that  sorrow 
may  be  over  him  rising  up  and  lying  down, 
that  will  put  him  thinking  of  Collooney 
churchyard  and  not  of  marriage.  And 
let  you  make  no  delay  about  it,  for  it  is 
for  to-morrow  they  have  the  marriage 
settled,  and  I  would  sooner  see  the  sun 
rise  on  the  day  of  my  death  than  on  that 
day.' 

'I  will  put  him  into  a  song  that  will 
bring  shame  and  sorrow  over  him ;  but 
tell  me  how  many  years  has  he,  for  I 
would  put  them  in  the  song  ? ' 

'O,  he  has  years  upon  years.  He  is 
as  old  as  you  yourself.  Red  Hanrahan.' 
'As  old  as  myself/  said  Hanrahan,  and  his 
voice  was  as  if  broken ;  '  as  old  as  myself ; 
there  are  twenty  years  and  more  between 
us !    It  is  a  bad  day  indeed  for  Owen 


RED  HANRAHAN'S  CURSE  47 

Hanrahan  when  a  young  girl  with  the 
blossom  of  May  in  her  cheeks  thinks  him 
to  be  an  old  man.  And  my  grief ! '  he 
said,  'you  have  put  a  thorn  in  my  heart.' 

He  turned  from  her  then  and  went  down 
the  road  till  he  came  to  a  stone,  and  he  sat 
down  on  it,  for  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  weight 
of  the  years  had  come  on  him  in  the  minute. 
And  he  remembered  it  was  not  many  days 
ago  that  a  woman  in  some  house  had  said  : 
'It  is  not  Red  Hanrahan  you  are  now  but 
yellow  Hanrahan,  for  your  hair  is  turned 
to  the  colour  of  a  wisp  of  tow.'  And 
another  woman  he  had  asked  for  a  drink 
had  not  given  him  new  milk  but  sour; 
and  sometimes  the  girls  would  be  whisper- 
ing and  laughing  with  young  ignorant 
men  while  he  himself  was  in  the  middle  of 
giving  out  his  poems  or  his  talk.  And  he 
thought  of  the  stiffness  of  his  joints  when 
he  first  rose  of  a  morning,  and  the  pain  of 
his  knees  after  making  a  journey,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  was  come  to  be  a 
very  old  man,  with  cold  in  the  shoulders 
and  speckled  shins  and  his  wind  breaking 
and    he    himself    withering    away.    And 


48       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

with  those  thoughts  there  came  on  him  a 
great  anger  against  old  age  and  all  it 
brought  with  it.  And  just  then  he  looked 
up  and  saw  a  great  spotted  eagle  sailing 
slowly  towards  Ballygawley,  and  he  cried 
out:  'You,  too,  eagle  of  Ballygawley,  are 
old,  and  your  wings  are  full  of  gaps,  and  I 
will  put  you  and  your  ancient  comrades, 
the  Pike  of  Dargan  Lake  and  the  Yew  of 
the  Steep  Place  of  the  Strangers  into  my 
rhyme,  that  there  may  be  a  curse  on  you 
forever.' 

There  was  a  bush  beside  him  to  the  left, 
flowering  like  the  rest,  and  a  little  gust  of 
wind  blew  the  white  blossoms  over  his 
coat.  'May  blossoms,'  he  said,  gathering 
them  up  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  'you 
never  know  age  because  you  die  away  in 
your  beauty,  and  I  will  put  you  into  my 
rhyme  and  give  you  my  blessing.' 

He  rose  up  then  and  plucked  a  little 
branch  from  the  bush,  and  carried  it  in 
his  hand.  But  it  is  old  and  broken  he 
looked  going  home  that  day  with  the 
stoop  in  his  shoulders  and  the  darkness 
in  his  face. 


RED  HANRAHAN'S  CURSE  49 

When  he  got  to  his  cabin  there  was  no 
one  there,  and  he  went  and  lay  down  on 
the  bed  for  a  while  as  he  was  used  to  do 
when  he  wanted  to  make  a  poem  or  a 
praise  or  a  curse.  And  it  was  not  long  he 
was  in  making  it  this  time,  for  the  power 
of  the  curse-making  bards  was  upon  him. 
And  when  he  had  made  it  he  searched  his 
mind  how  he  could  send  it  out  over  the 
whole  countryside. 

Some  of  the  scholars  began  coming  in 
then,  to  see  if  there  would  be  any  school 
that  day,  and  Hanrahan  rose  up  and  sat 
on  the  bench  by  the  hearth,  and  they  all 
stood  around  him. 

They  thought  he  would  bring  out  the 
Virgil  or  the  Mass  book  or  the  primer,  but 
instead  of  that  he  held  up  the  little  branch 
of  hawthorn  he  had  in  his  hand  yet. 
'Children,'  he  said,  Hhis  is  a  new  lesson 
I  have  for  you  to-day. 

'  You  yourselves  and  the  beautiful  people 
of  the  world  are  Uke  this  blossom,  and  old 
age  is  the  wind  that  comes  and  blows  the 
blossom  away.  And  I  have  made  a  curse 
upon  old  age  and  upon  the  old  men,  and 


50       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

listen  now  while  I  give  it  out  to  you.'    And 
this  is  what  he  said,  — 

The  poet,  Owen  Hanrahan,  under  a  bush  of 

may 
Calls  down  a  curse  on  his  own  head  because  it 

withers  grey ; 
Then  on  the  speckled  eagle  cock  of  Ballygawley 

Hill, 
Because  it  is  the  oldest  thing  that  knows  of  cark 

and  ill ; 
And  on  the  yew  that  has  been  green  from  the 

times  out  of  mind 
By  the  Steep  Place  of  the  Strangers  and  the 
.  Gap  of  the  Wind ; 
And  on  the  great  grey  pike  that  broods  in 

Castle  Dargan  Lake 
Having  in  his  long  body  a  many  a  hook  and 

ache; 
Then  curses  he  old  Paddy  Bruen  of  the  Well  of 

Bride 
Because  no  hair  is  on  his  head  and  drowsiness 

inside. 
Then    Paddy's    neighbour,    Peter    Hart,   and 

Michael  Gill,  his  friend, 
Because  their  wandering  histories  are  never  at 

an  end. 
And  then  old  Shemus  Cullinan,  shepherd  of 

the  Green  Lands 


RED  HANRAHAN'S  CURSE  51 

Because  he  holds  two  crutches  between  his 

crooked  hands ; 
Then  calls  a  curse  from  the  dark  North  upon 

old  Paddy  Doe, 
Who  plans  to  lay  his  withering  head  upon  a 

breast  of  snow, 
Who  plans  to  wreck  a  singing  voice  and  break  a 

merry  heart. 
He  bids  a  curse  hang  over  him  till  breath  and 

body  part ; 
But  he  calls  down  a  blessing  on  the  blossom  of 

the  may, 
Because  it  comes  in  beauty,  and  in  beauty  blows 

away. 

He  said  it  over  to  the  children  verse  by 
verse  till  all  of  them  could  say  a  part  of  it, 
and  some  that  were  the  quickest  could  say 
the  whole  of  it. 

'That  will  do  for  to-day,'  he  said  then. 
'And  what  you  have  to  do  now  is  to  go  out 
and  sing  that  song  for  a  while,  to  the  tune 
of  the  Green  Bunch  of  Rushes,  to  everyone 
you  meet,  and  to  the  old  men  themselves.' 

'I  will  do  that,'  said  one  of  the  httle 
lads ;  *  I  know  old  Paddy  Doe  well.  Last 
Saint  John's  Eve  we  dropped  a  mouse 


52       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

down  his  chimney,  but  this  is  better  than 
a  mouse.' 

*  I  will  go  into  the  town  of  Sligo  and  sing 
it  in  the  street,'  said  another  of  the  boys. 
'Do  that,'  said  Hanrahan,  'and  go  into 
the  Burrough  and  tell  it  to  Margaret 
Rooney  and  Mary  GilHs,  and  bid  them 
sing  it,  and  to  make  the  beggars  and  the 
bacachs  sing  it  wherever  they  go.'  The 
children  ran  out  then,  full  of  pride  and  of 
mischief,  calling  out  the  song  as  they  ran, 
and  Hanrahan  knew  there  was  no  danger 
it  would  not  be  heard. 

He  was  sitting  outside  the  door  the  next 
morning,  looking  at  his  scholars  as  they 
came  by  in  twos  and  threes.  They  were 
nearly  all  come,  and  he  was  considering 
the  place  of  the  sun  in  the  heavens  to  know 
whether  it  was  time  to  begin,  when  he 
heard  a  sound  that  was  like  the  buzzing  of 
a  swarm  of  bees  in  the  air,  or  the  rushing  of 
a  hidden  river  in  time  of  flood.  Then  he 
saw  a  crowd  coming  up  to  the  cabin  from 
the  road,  and  he  took  notice  that  all  the 
crowd  was  made  up  of  old  men,  and  that 
the    leaders    of    it    were    Paddy    Bruen, 


RED  HANRAHAN'S  CURSE  53 

Michael  Gill  and  Paddy  Doe,  and  there 
was  not  one  in  the  crowd  but  had  in  his 
hand  an  ash  stick  or  a  blackthorn.  As 
soon  as  they  caught  sight  of  him,  the  sticks 
began  to  wave  hither  and  thither  like 
branches  in  a  storm,  and  the  old  feet  to  run. 

He  waited  no  longer,  but  made  off  up 
the  hill  behind  the  cabin  till  he  was  out  of 
their  sight. 

After  a  while  he  came  back  round  the 
hill,  where  he  was  hidden  by  the  furze 
growing  along  a  ditch.  And  when  he  came 
in  sight  of  his  cabin  he  saw  that  all  the 
old  men  had  gathered  around  it,  and  one 
of  them  was  just  at  that  time  thrusting  a 
rake  with  a  wisp  of  lighted  straw  on  it 
into  the  thatch. 

'My  grief,'  he  said,  'I  have  set  Old 
Age  and  Time  and  Weariness  and  Sickness 
against  me,  and  I  must  go  wandering  again. 
And,  O  Blessed  Queen  of  Heaven,'  he  said, 
'  protect  me  from  the  Eagle  of  Ballygawley, 
the  Yew  Tree  of  the  Steep  Place  of  the 
Strangers,  the  Pike  of  Castle  Dargan  Lake, 
and  from  the  lighted  wisps  of  their  kindred, 
the  Old  Men!' 


HANRAHAN'S  VISION 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June  Hanrahan 
was  on  the  road  near  Sligo,  but  he  did  not 
go  into  the  town,  but  turned  towards 
Ben  Bulben ;  for  there  were  thoughts  of 
the  old  times  coming  upon  him,  and  he 
had  no  mind  to  meet  with  common  men. 
And  as  he  walked  he  was  singing  to  himself 
a  song  that  had  come  to  him  one  time  in 
his  dreams : 

O  Death's  old  bony  finger 
Will  never  find  us  there 
In  the  high  hollow  townland 
Where  love's  to  give  and  to  spare ; 
Where  boughs  have  fruit  and  blossom 
At  all  times  of  the  year ; 
Where  rivers  are  running  over 
With  red  beer  and  brown  beer. 
— —    An  old  man  plays  the  bagpipes 
In  a  gold  and  silver  wood ; 
Queens,  their  eyes  blue  like  the  ice, 
Are  dancing  in  a  crowd. 
54 


HANRAHAN'S  VISION  55 

The  little  fox  he  murmured, 
'  O  what  of  the  world's  bane  ? ' 
The  sun  was  laughing  sweetly, 
The  moon  plucked  at  my  rein ; 
But  the  little  red  fox  murmured, 
'  O  do  not  pluck  at  his  rein, 
He  is  riding  to  the  townland 
That  is  the  world's  bane.' 

When  their  hearts  are  so  high 
That  they  would  come  to  blows. 
They  unhook  their  heavy  swords 
From  golden  and  silver  boughs : 
But  all  that  are  killed  in  battle 
Awaken  to  life  again : 
It  is  lucky  that  their  story 
Is  not  known  among  men. 
For  O,  the  strong  farmers 
That  would  let  the  spade  lie, 
Their  hearts  would  be  like  a  cup 
That  somebody  had  drunk  dry. 

Michael  will  unhook  his  trumpet 

From  a  bough  overhead. 

And  blow  a  little  noise 

When  the  supper  has  been  spread. 

Gabriel  will  come  from  the  water 

With  a  fish  tail,  and  talk 

Of  wonders  that  have  happened 


56       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

On  wet  roads  where  men  walk, 
And  lift  up  an  old  horn 
Of  hammered  silver,  and  drink 
Till  he  has  fallen  asleep 
Upon  the  starry  brink. 

Hanrahan  had  begun  to  climb  the 
mountain  then,  and  he  gave  over  singing, 
for  it  was  a  long  climb  for  him,  and  every 
now  and  again  he  had  to  sit  down  and  to 
rest  for  a  while.  And  one  time  he  was 
resting  he  took  notice  of  a  wild  briar  bush, 
with  blossoms  on  it,  that  was  growing 
beside  a  rath,  and  it  brought  to  mind  the 
wild  roses  he  used  to  bring  to  Mary  Lavelle, 
and  to  no  woman  after  her.  And  he  tore 
off  a  little  branch  of  the  bush,  that  had 
buds  on  it  and  open  blossoms,  and  he 
went  on  with  his  song : 

The  little  fox  he  murmured, 
'O  what  of  the  world's  bane?' 
The  sun  was  laughing  sweetly. 
The  moon  plucked  at  my  rein ; 
But  the  little  red  fox  murmured, 
*  O  do  not  pluck  at  his  rein. 
He  is  riding  to  the  townland 
That  is  the  world's  bane.' 


HANRAHAN'S   VISION  57 

And  he  went  on  climbing  the  hill,  and 
left  the  rath,  and  there  came  to  his  mind 
some  of  the  old  poems  that  told  of  lovers, 
good  and  bad,  and  of  some  that  were 
awakened  from  the  sleep  of  the  grave  it- 
self by  the  strength  of  one  another's  love, 
and  brought  away  to  a  life  in  some  shadowy 
place,  where  they  are  waiting  for  the 
judgment  and  banished  from  the  face  of 
God. 

And  at  last,  at  the  fall  of  day,  he  came  to 
the  Steep  Place  of  the  Strangers,  and  there 
he  laid  himself  down  along  a  ridge  of  rock, 
and  looked  into  the  valley,  that  was  full 
of  grey  mist  spreading  from  mountain  to 
mountain. 

And  it  seemed  to  him  as  he  looked  that 
the  mist  changed  to  shapes  of  shadowy 
men  and  women,  and  his  heart  began  to 
beat  with  the  fear  and  the  joy  of  the  sight. 
And  his  hands,  that  were  always  restless, 
began  to  pluck  off  the  leaves  of  the  roses 
on  the  little  branch,  and  he  watched  them 
as  they  went  floating  down  into  the  valley 
in  a  little  fluttering  troop. 

Suddenly  he   heard   a   faint   music,   a 


58       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

music  that  had  more  laughter  in  it  and 
more  crying  than  all  the  music  of  this 
world.  And  his  heart  rose  when  he  heard 
that,  and  he  began  to  laugh  out  loud,  for  he 
knew  that  music  was  made  by  some  who 
had  a  beauty  and  a  greatness  beyond  the 
people  of  this  world.  And  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  little  soft  rose  leaves  as  they 
went  fluttering  down  into  the  valley  began 
to  change  their  shape  till  they  looked  like 
a  troop  of  men  and  women  far  off  in  the 
mist,  with  the  colour  of  the  roses  on  them. 
And  then  that  colour  changed  to  many 
colours,  and  what  he  saw  was  a  long  line 
of  tall  beautiful  young  men,  and  of  queen- 
women,  that  were  not  going  from  him  but 
coming  towards  him  and  past  him,  and 
their  faces  were  full  of  tenderness  for  all 
their  proud  looks,  and  were  very  pale 
and  worn,  as  if  they  were  seeking  and 
ever  seeking  for  high  sorrowful  things. 
And  shadowy  arms  were  stretched  out  of 
the  mist  as  if  to  take  hold  of  them,  but 
could  not  touch  them,  for  the  quiet  that 
was  about  them  could  not  be  broken. 
And  before  them  and  beyond  them,  but 


HANRAHAN'S   VISION  59 

at  a  distance  as  if  in  reverence,  there  were 
other  shapes,  sinking  and  rising  and  coming 
and  going,  and  Hanrahan  knew  them  by 
their  whirHng  flight  to  be  the  Sidhe,  the 
ancient  defeated  gods ;  and  the  shadowy 
arms  did  not  rise  to  take  hold  of  them, 
for  they  were  of  those  that  can  neither  sin 
nor  obey.  And  they  all  lessened  then  in 
the  distance,  and  they  seemed  to  be  going 
towards  the  white  door  that  is  in  the  side 
of  the  mountain. 

The  mist  spread  out  before  him  now  like 
a  deserted  sea  washing  the  mountains  with 
long  grey  waves,  but  while  he  was  looking 
at  it,  it  began  to  fill  again  with  a  flowing 
broken  witless  life  that  was  a  part  of  itself, 
and  arms  and  pale  heads  covered  with 
tossing  hair  appeared  in  the  greyness.  It 
rose  higher  and  higher  till  it  was  level  with 
the  edge  of  the  steep  rock,  and  then  the 
shapes  grew  to  be  solid,  and  a  new  proces- 
sion half  lost  in  mist  passed  very  slowly 
with  uneven  steps,  and  in  the  midst  of 
each  shadow  there  was  something  shining 
in  the  starlight.  They  came  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  Hanrahan  saw  that  they  also 


60       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

were  lovers,  and  that  they  had  heart- 
shaped  mirrors  instead  of  hearts,  and  they 
were  looking  and  ever  looking  on  their  own 
faces  in  one  another's  mirrors.  They 
passed  on,  sinking  downward  as  they 
passed,  and  other  shapes  rose  in  their 
place,  and  these  did  not  keep  side  by  side, 
but  followed  after  one  another,  holding 
out  wild  beckoning  arms,  and  he  saw  that 
those  who  were  followed  were  women, 
and  as  to  their  heads  they  were  beyond  all 
beauty,  but  as  to  their  bodies  they  were 
but  shadows  without  life,  and  their  long 
hair  was  moving  and  trembling  about 
them,  as  if  it  lived  with  some  terrible  life 
of  its  own.  And  then  the  mist  rose  of  a 
sudden  and  hid  them,  and  then  a  light 
gust  of  wind  blew  them  away  towards  the 
north-east,  and  covered  Hanrahan  at  the 
same  time  with  a  white  wing  of  cloud. 

He  stood  up  trembling  and  was  going  to 
turn  away  from  the  valley,  when  he  saw 
two  dark  and  half-hidden  forms  standing 
as  if  in  the  air  just  beyond  the  rock,  and 
one  of  them  that  had  the  sorrowful  eyes 
of  a  beggar  said  to  him  in  a  woman's 


HANRAHAN'S  VISION  61 

voice,  'Speak  to  me,  for  no  one  in  this 
world  or  any  other  world  has  spoken  to  me 
for  seven  hundred  years.' 

'  Tell  me  who  are  those  that  have  passed 
by,'  said  Hanrahan. 

'Those  that  passed  first,'  the  woman 
said,  'are  the  lovers  that  had  the  greatest 
name  in  the  old  times,  Blanad  and  Deirdre 
and  Grania  and  their  dear  comrades,  and 
a  great  many  that  are  not  so  well  known 
but  are  as  well  loved.  And  because  it 
was  not  only  the  blossom  of  youth  they 
were  looking  for  in  one  another,  but  the 
beauty  that  is  as  lasting  as  the  night  and 
the  stars,  the  night  and  the  stars  hold 
them  for  ever  from  the  warring  and  the 
perishing,  in  spite  of  the  wars  and  the 
bitterness  their  love  brought  into  the  world. 
And  those  that  came  next,'  she  said,  'and 
that  still  breathe  the  sweet  air  and  have  the 
mirrors  in  their  hearts,  are  not  put  in 
songs  by  the  poets,  because  they  sought 
only  to  triumph  one  over  the  other,  and 
so  to  prove  their  strength  and  beauty,  j 
and  out  of  this  they  made  a  kind  of  love.  I 
And  as  to  the  women  with  shadow-bodies, 


62       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

j  they  desired  neither  to  triumph  nor  to 
I  love  but  only  to  be  loved,  and  there  is 
'  no  blood  in  their  hearts  or  in  their  bodies 
until  it  flows  through  them  from  a  kiss, 
-V  and  their  life  is  but  for  a  moment.  All 
these' are  unhappy,  but  I  am  the  unhappiest 
of  all,  for  I  am  Dervadilla,  and  this  is 
Dermot,  and  it  was  our  sin  brought  the 
Norman  into  Ireland.  And  the  curses 
of  all  the  generations  are  upon  us,  and 
none  are  punisiied  as  we  are  punished. 
It  was  but  the  blossom  of  the  man  and  of 
the  woman  we  loved  in  one  another,  the 
dying  beauty  of  the  dust  and  not  the  ever- 
lasting beauty.  When  we  died  there  was 
no  lasting  unbreakable  quiet  about  us, 
and  the  bitterness  of  the  battles  we  brought 
into  Ireland  turned  to  our  own  punishment. 
We  go  wandering  together  for  ever,  but 
Dermot  that  was  my  lover  sees  me  always 
as  a  body  that  has  been  a  long  time  in  the 
ground,  and  I  know  that  is  the  way  he 
sees  me.  Ask  me  more,  ask  me  more,  for 
all  the  years  have  left  their  wisdom  in  my 
heart,  and  no  one  has  listened  to  me  for 
seven  hundred  years.' 


HANRAHAN'S  VISION  63 

A  great  terror  had  fallen  upon  Hanrahan, 
and  lifting  his  arms  above  his  head  he 
screamed  out  loud  three  times,  and  the 
cattle  in  the  valley  hfted  their  heads  and 
lowed,  and  the  birds  in  the  wood  at  the 
edge  of  the  mountain  awaked  out  of  their 
sleep  and  fluttered  through  the  trembling 
leaves.  But  a  little  below  the  edge  of 
the  rock,  the  troop  of  rose  leaves  still 
fluttered  in  the  air,  for  the  gateway  of 
Eternity  had  opened  and  shut  again  in 
one  beat  of  the  heart. 


THE  DEATH  OF  HANRAHAN 

Hanrahan,  that  was  never  long  in  one 
place,  was  back  again  among  the  villages 
that  are  at  the  foot  of  Slieve  Echtge,  lUe- 
ton  and  Scalp  and  Ballylee,  stopping  some- 
times in  one  house  and  sometimes  in 
another,  and  finding  a  welcome  in  every- 
place for  the  sake  of  the  old  times  and  of 
his  poetry  and  his  learning.  There  was 
some  silver  and  some  copper  money  in 
the  little  leather  bag  under  his  coat,  but 
it  was  seldom  he  needed  to  take  anything 
from  it,  for  it  was  little  he  used,  and  there 
was  not  one  of  the  people  that  would 
have  taken  payment  from  him.  His  hand 
had  grown  heavy  on  the  blackthorn  he 
leaned  on,  and  his  cheeks  were  hollow 
and  worn,  but  so  far  as  food  went,  potatoes 
and  milk  and  a  bit  of  oaten  cake,  he  had 
what  he  wanted  of  it ;  and  it  is  not  on  the 
edge  of  so  wild  and  boggy  a  place  as  Echtge 
a  mug  of  spirits  would  be  wanting,  with  the 
64 


THE  DEATH  OF  HAN  RAH  AN         65 

taste  of  the  turf  smoke  on  it.  He  would 
wander  about  the  big  wood  at  Kinadife,  or 
he  would  sit  through  many  hours  of  the  day 
among  the  rushes  about  Lake  Belshragh, 
listening  to  the  streams  from  the  hills, 
or  watching  the  shadows  in  the  brown 
bog  pools  ;  sitting  so  quiet  as  not  to  startle 
the  deer  that  came  down  from  the  heather 
to  the  grass  and  the  tilled  fields  at  the  fall 
of  night.  As  the  days  went  by  it  seemed 
as  if  he  was  beginning  to  belong  to  some 
world  out  of  sight  and  misty,  that  has  for 
its  mearing  the  colours  that  are  beyond  all 
other  colours  and  the  silences  that  are 
beyond  all  silences  of  this  world.  And 
sometimes  he  would  hear  coming  and  going 
in  the  wood  music  that  when  it  stopped 
went  from  his  memory  like  a  dream ;  and 
once  in  the  stillness  of  midday  he  heard  a 
sound  hke  the  clashing  of  many  swords, 
that  went  on  for  long  time  without  any 
break.  And  at  the  fall  of  night  and  at 
moonrise  the  lake  would  grow  to  be  like  a 
gateway  of  silver  and  shining  stones,  and 
there  would  come  from  its  silence  the  faint 
sound  of  keening  and  of  frightened  laughter 


66       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

broken    by    the    wind,    and    many    pale 
beckoning  hands. 

He  was  sitting  looking  into  the  water  one 
evening  in  harvest  time,  thinking  of  all 
the  secrets  that  were  shut  into  the  lakes 
and  the  mountains,  when  he  heard  a  cry 
coming  from  the  south,  very  faint  at  first, 
but  getting  louder  and  clearer  as  the 
shadow  of  the  rushes  grew  longer,  till  he 
could  hear  the  words,  'I  am  beautiful,  I 
am  beautiful ;  the  birds  in  the  air,  the 
moths  under  the  leaves,  the  flies  over  the 
water  look  at  me,  for  they  never  saw  any 
one  so  beautiful  as  myself.  I  am  young; 
I  am  young :  look  upon  me,  mountains ; 
look  upon  me,  perishing  woods,  for  my 
body  will  shine  like  the  white  waters  when 
you  have  been  hurried  away.  You  and 
the  whole  race  of  men,  and  the  race  of  the 
beasts  and  the  race  of  the  fish  and  the 
winged  race  are  dropping  like  a  candle 
that  is  nearly  burned  out,  but  I  laugh  out 
because  I  am  in  my  youth.'  The  voice 
would  break  off  from  time  to  time,  as  if 
tired,  and  then  it  would  begin  again, 
calling  out  always  the  same  words,  'I  am 


THE  DEATH  OF  HANRAHAN         67 

beautiful,  I  am  beautiful.'  Presently  the 
bushes  at  the  edge  of  the  little  lake  trem- 
bled for  a  moment,  and  a  very  old  woman 
forced  her  way  among  them,  and  passed 
by  Hanrahan,  walking  with  very  slow 
steps.  Her  face  was  of  the  colour  of  earth, 
and  more  wrinkled  than  the  face  of  any  old 
hag  that  was  ever  seen,  and  her  grey  hair 
was  hanging  in  wisps,  and  the  rags  she  was 
wearing  did  not  hide  her  dark  skin  that 
was  roughened  by  all  weathers.  She 
passed  by  him  with  her  eyes  wide  open,  and 
her  head  high,  and  her  arms  hanging 
straight  beside  her,  and  she  went  into  the 
shadow  of  the  hills  towards  the  west. 

A  sort  of  dread  came  over  Hanrahan 
when  he  saw  her,  for  he  knew  her  to  be 
one  Winny  Byrne,  that  went  begging  from 
place  to  place  crying  always  the  same  cry, 
and  he  had  often  heard  that  she  had  once 
such  wisdom  that  all  the  women  of  the 
neighbours  used  to  go  looking  for  advice 
from  her,  and  that  she  had  a  voice  so 
beautiful  that  men  and  women  would 
come  from  every  part  to  hear  her  sing  at  a 
wake  or  a  wedding ;  and  that  the  Others, 


68        STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

the  great  Sidhe,  had  stolen  her  wits  one 
Samhain  night  many  years  ago,  when  she 
had  fallen  asleep  on  the  edge  of  a  rath, 
and  had  seen  in  her  dreams  the  servants 
of  Echtge  of  the  hills. 

And  as  she  vanished  away  up  the  hillside, 
it  seemed  as  if  her  cry,  'I  am  beautiful,  I 
am  beautiful,'  was  coming  from  among 
the  stars  in  the  heavens. 

There  was  a  cold  wind  creeping  among 
the  rushes,  and  Hanrahan  began  to  shiver, 
and  he  rose  up  to  go  to  some  house  where 
there  would  be  a  fire  on  the  hearth.  But 
instead  of  turning  down  the  hill  as  he  was 
used,  he  went  on  up  the  hill,  along  the 
little  track  that  was  maybe  a  road  and 
maybe  the  dry  bed  of  a  stream.  It  was 
the  same  way  Winny  had  gone,  and  it  led 
to  the  little  cabin  where  she  stopped  when 
she  stopped  in  any  place  at  all.  He  walked 
very  slowly  up  the  hill  as  if  he  had  a  great 
load  on  his  back,  and  at  last  he  saw  a 
light  a  little  to  the  left,  and  he  thought  it 
likely  it  was  from  Winny's  house  it  was 
shining,  and  he  turned  from  the  path  to  go 
to  it.     But  clouds  had  come  over  the  sky, 


THE  DEATH  OF  HAN  RAH  AN         69 

and  he  could  not  well  see  his  way,  and  after 
he  had  gone  a  few  steps  his  foot  slipped 
and  he  fell  into  a  bog  drain,  and  though  he 
dragged  himself  out  of  it,  holding  on  to 
the  roots  of  the  heather,  the  fall  had  given 
him  a  great  shake,  and  he  felt  better  fit 
to  lie  down  than  to  go  travelling.  But 
he  had  always  great  courage,  and  he  made 
his  way  on,  step  by  step,  till  at  last  he 
came  to  Winny's  cabin,  that  had  no  win- 
dow, but  the  light  was  shining  from  the 
door.  He  thought  to  go  into  it  and  to 
rest  for  a  while,  but  when  he  came  to  the 
door  he  did  not  see  Winny  inside  it,  but 
what  he  saw  was  four  old  grey-haired 
women  playing  cards,  but  Winny  herself 
was  not  among  them.  Hanrahan  sat 
down  on  a  heap  of  turf  beside  the  door, 
for  he  was  tired  out  and  out,  and  had  no 
wish  for  talking  or  for  card-playing,  and 
his  bones  and  his  joints  aching  the  way 
they  were.  He  could  hear  the  four  women 
talking  as  they  played,  and  calling  out 
their  hands.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that 
they  were  saying,  like  the  strange  man  in 
the  barn  long  ago  :  '  Spades  and  Diamonds, 


70       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

Courage  and  Power.  Clubs  and  Hearts, 
Knowledge  and  Pleasure.'  And  he  went 
on  saying  those  words  over  and  over  to 
himself ;  and  whether  or  not  he  was  in  his 
dreams,  the  pain  that  was  in  his  shoulder 
never  left  him.  And  after  a  while  the 
four  women  in  the  cabin  began  to  quarrel, 
and  each  one  to  say  the  other  had  not 
played  fair,  and  their  voices  grew  from 
loud  to  louder,  and  their  screams  and  their 
curses,  till  at  last  the  whole  air  was  filled 
with  the  noise  of  them  around  and  above 
the  house,  and  Hanrahan,  hearing  it 
between  sleep  and  waking,  said :  *  That  is 
the  sound  of  the  fighting  between  the 
friends  and  the  ill-wishers  of  a  man  that  is 
near  his  death.  And  I  wonder,'  he  said, 
'who  is  the  man  in  this  lonely  place  that 
is  near  his  death.' 

It  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  asleep  a 
long  time,  and  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  the 
face  he  saw  over  him  was  the  old  wrinkled 
face  of  Winny  of  the  Cross  Road.  She 
was  looking  hard  at  him,  as  if  to  make 
sure  he  was  not  dead,  and  she  wiped  away 
the  blood  that  had  grown  dry  on  his  face 


THE  DEATH  OF  HAN  RAH  AN         71 

with  a  wet  cloth,  and  after  a  while  she 
partly  helped  him  and  partly  lifted  him 
into  the  cabin,  and  laid  him  down  on  what 
served  her  for  a  bed.  She  gave  him  a 
couple  of  potatoes  from  a  pot  on  the  fire, 
and,  what  served  him  better,  a  mug  of 
spring  water.  He  slept  a  little  now  and 
again,  and  sometimes  he  heard  her  singing 
to  herself  as  she  moved  about  the  house, 
and  so  the  night  wore  away.  When  the 
sky  began  to  brighten  with  the  dawn  he 
felt  for  the  bag  where  his  little  store  of 
money  was,  and  held  it  out  to  her,  and  she 
took  out  a  bit  of  copper  and  a  bit  of  silver 
money,  but  she  let  it  drop  again  as  if  it 
was  nothing  to  her,  maybe  because  it  was 
not  money  she  was  used  to  beg  for,  but 
food  and  rags ;  or  maybe  because  the  rising 
of  the  dawn  was  filling  her  with  pride 
and  a  new  belief  in  her  own  great  beauty. 
She  went  out  and  cut  a  few  armfuls  of 
heather,  and  brought  it  in  and  heaped  it 
over  Hanrahan,  saying  something  about 
the  cold  of  the  morning,  and  while  she  did 
that  he  took  notice  of  the  wrinkles  in  her 
face,  and  the  greyness  of  her  hair,  and  the 


72       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

broken  teeth  that  were  black  and  full  of 
gaps.  And  when  he  was  well  covered 
with  the  heather  she  went  out  of  the  door 
and  away  down  the  side  of  the  mountain, 
and  he  could  hear  her  cry,  '  I  am  beautiful, 
I  am  beautiful,'  getting  less  and  less  as  she 
went,  till  at  last  it  died  away  altogether. 

Hanrahan  lay  there  through  the  length 
of  the  day,  in  his  pains  and  his  weakness, 
and  when  the  shadows  of  the  evening  were 
falling  he  heard  her  voice  again  coming 
up  the  hillside,  and  she  came  in  and  boiled 
the  potatoes  and  shared  them  with  him 
the  same  way  as  before.  And  one  day 
after  another  passed  like  that,  and  the 
weight  of  his  flesh  was  heavy  about  him. 
But  little  by  little  as  he  grew  weaker  he 
knew  there  were  some  greater  than  himself 
in  the  room  with  him,  and  that  the  house 
began  to  be  filled  with  them;  and  it 
seemed  to  him  they  had  all  power  in  their 
hands,  and  that  they  might  with  one 
touch  of  the  hand  break  down  the  wall 
the  hardness  of  pain  had  built  about  him, 
and  take  him  into  their  own  world.  And 
sometimes  he  could  hear  voices,  very  faint 


THE  DEATH  OF  HAN  RAH  AN         73 

and  joyful,  crying  from  the  rafters  or  out 
of  the  flame  on  the  hearth,  and  other  times 
the  whole  house  was  filled  with  music  that 
went  through  it  like  a  wind.  And  after  a 
while  his  weakness  left  no  place  for  pain, 
and  there  grew  up  about  him  a  great 
silence  like  the  silence  in  the  heart  of  a 
lake,  and  there  came  through  it  like  the 
flame  of  a  rushlight  the  faint  joyful  voices 
ever  and  always. 

One  morning  he  heard  music  somewhere 
outside  the  door,  and  as  the  day  passed 
it  grew  louder  and  louder  until  it  drowned 
the  faint  joyful  voices,  and  even  Winny's 
cry  upon  the  hillside  at  the  fall  of  evening. 
About  midnight  and  in  a  moment,  the 
walls  seemed  to  melt  away  and  to  leave  his 
bed  floating  on  a  pale  misty  Ught  that 
shone  on  every  side  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see;  and  after  the  first  blinding  of  his 
eyes  he  saw  that  it  was  full  of  great 
shadowy  figures  rushing  here  and  there. 

At  the  same  time  the  music  came  very 
clearly  to  him,  and  he  knew  that  it  was 
but  the  continual  clashing  of  swords. 

'I  am  after  my  death,'  he  said,  'and  in 


74       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

the  very  heart  of  the  music  of  Heaven. 
0  Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  receive  my 
soul!' 

At  his  cry  the  light  where  it  was  nearest 
to  him  filled  with  sparks  of  yet  brighter 
light,  and  he  saw  that  these  were  the 
points  of  swords  turned  towards  his  heart ; 
and  then  a  sudden  flame,  bright  and  burn- 
ing like  God's  love  or  God's  hate,  swept 
over  the  light  and  went  out  and  he  was 
in  darkness.  At  first  he  could  see  nothing, 
for  all  was  as  dark  as  if  there  was  black 
bog  earth  about  him,  but  all  of  a  sudden 
the  fire  blazed  up  as  if  a  wisp  of  straw  had 
been  thrown  upon  it.  And  as  he  looked 
at  it,  the  fight  was  shining  on  the  big 
pot  that  was  hanging  from  a  hook,  and 
on  the  flat  stone  where  Winny  used  to  bake 
a  cake  now  and  again,  and  on  the  long 
rusty  knife  she  used  to  be  cutting  the 
roots  of  the  heather  with,  and  on  the 
long  blackthorn  stick  he  had  brought  into 
the  house  himself.  And  when  he  saw 
those  four  things,  some  memory  came  into 
Hanrahan's  mind,  and  strength  came  back 
to  him,  and  he  rose  sitting  up  in  the  bed, 


THE  DEATH  OF  HAN  RAH  AN        75 

?nd  he  said  very  loud  and  clear:  'The 
Cauldron,  the  Stone,  the  Sword,  the  Spear. 
What  are  they  ?  Who  do  they  belong  to  ? 
And  I  have  asked  the  question  this  time/ 
he  said. 

And  then  he  fell  back  again,  weak,  and 
the  breath  going  from  him. 

Winny  Byrne,  that  had  been  tending  the 
fire,  came  over  then,  having  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  bed ;  and  the  faint  laughing  voices 
began  crying  out  again,  and  a  pale  light, 
grey  like  a  wave,  came  creeping  over  the 
room,  and  he  did  not  know  from  what 
secret  world  it  came.  He  saw  Winny's 
withered  face  and  her  withered  arms  that 
were  grey  like  crumbled  earth,  and  weak 
as  he  was  he  shrank  back  farther  towards 
the  wall.  And  then  there  came  out  of 
the  mud-stiffened  rags  arms  as  white  and 
as  shadowy  as  the  foam  on  a  river,  and 
they  were  put  about  his  body,  and  a  voice 
that  he  could  hear  well  but  that  seemed 
to  come  from  a  long  way  off  said  to  him 
in  a  whisper:  '  You  will  go  looking  for  me 
no  more  upon  the  breasts  of  women.' 

'Who  are  you?'  he  said  then. 


76       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

'I  am  one  of  the  lasting  people,  of  the 
lasting  unwearied  Voices,  that  make  my 
dwelling  in  the  broken  and  the  dying,  and 
those  that  have  lost  their  wits ;  and  I 
came  looking  for  you,  and  you  are  mine 
until  the  whole  world  is  burned  out  like  a 
candle  that  is  spent.  And  look  up  now,' 
she  said,  'for  the  wisps  that  are  for  our 
wedding  are  lighted.' 

He  saw  then  that  the  house  was  crowded 
with  pale  shadowy  hands,  and  that  every 
hand  was  holding  what  was  sometimes  like 
a  wisp  lighted  for  a  marriage,  and  some- 
times like  a  tall  white  candle  for  the  dead. 

When  the  sun  rose  on  the  morning  of 
the  morrow  Winny  of  the  Cross  Roads 
rose  up  from  where  she  was  sitting  beside 
the  body,  and  began  her  begging  from 
townland  to  townland,  singing  the  same 
song  as  she  walked,  'I  am  beautiful,  I 
am  beautiful.  The  birds  in  the  air,  the 
moths  under  the  leaves,  the  flies  over  the 
water  look  at  me.  Look  at  me,  perishing 
woods,  for  my  body  will  be  shining  like 
the  lake  water  after  you  have  been  hur- 
ried   away.    You   and   the   old   race   of 


THE  DEATH  OF  HANRAHAN         77 

men,  and  the  race  of  the  beasts,  and  the 
race  of  the  fish,  and  the  winged  race,  are 
wearing  away  like  a  candle  that  has  been 
burned  out.  But  I  laugh  out  loud,  be- 
cause I  am  in  my  youth.' 

She  did  not  come  back  that  night  or  any 
night  to  the  cabin,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
end  of  two  days  that  the  turf  cutters 
going  to  the  bog  found  the  body  of  Red 
Owen  Hanrahan,  and  gathered  men  to 
wake  him  and  women  to  keen  him,  and 
gave  him  a  burjdng  worthy  of  so  great  a 
poet. 

My  dear  A.  E.  —  I  dedicate  this  hook  to  you 
because,  whether  you  think  it  well  or  ill  written, 
you  will  sympathize  with  the  sorrows  and  the 
ecstasies  of  its  personages,  perhaps  even  more 
than  I  do  myself.  Although  I  wrote  these  stories 
at  different  times  and  in  different  manners,  and 
without  any  definite  plan,  they  have  but  one  sub- 
ject, the  war  of  spiritual  with  natural  order; 
and  how  can  I  dedicate  such  a  book  to  anyone 
but  to  you,  the  one  poet  of  modern  Ireland  who 
has  moulded  a  spiritual  ecstasy  into  verse? 
My  friends  in  Ireland  sometimes  ask  me  when 
I  am  going  to  write  a  really  national  poem  or 


78       STORIES  OF  RED  HANRAHAN 

romance,  and  by  a  national  poem  or  romance  I 
understand  them  to  mean  a  poem  or  romance 
founded  upon  some  famous  moment  of  Irish 
history,  and  built  up  out  of  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings which  move  the  greater  number  of  patriotic 
Irishmen.  I  on  the  other  hand  believe  that 
poetry  and  romance  cannot  be  made  by  the  most 
conscientious  study  of  famous  moments  and  of 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  others,  but  only  by 
looking  into  that  little,  infinite,  faltering,  eternal 
flame  that  we  call  ourselves.  If  a  writer  wishes 
to  interest  a  certain  people  among  whom  he  has 
grown  up,  or  fancies  he  has  a  duty  towards  them, 
he  may  choose  for  the  symbols  of  his  art  their 
legends,  their  history,  their  beliefs,  their  opinions, 
because  he  has  a  right  to  choose  among  things  less 
than  himself,  but  he  cannot  choose  among  the 
substances  of  art.  So  far,  however,  as  this  book 
is  visionary  it  is  Irish,  for  Ireland  which  is 
still  predominantly  Celtic  has  preserved  with 
some  less  excellent  things  a  gift  of  vision,  which 
has  died  out  among  more  hurried  and  more  suc- 
cessful nations:  no  shining  candelabra  have 
prevented  us  from  looking  into  the  darkness,  and 
when  one  looks  into  the  darkness  there  is  always 
something  there. 

W.  B.  YEATS. 
London,  1896. 


THE  SECRET  ROSE 


As  for  living,  our  servants  will  do  that  for  us. 
—  Villiers  de  L'Isle  Adam. 

Helen,  when  she  looked  in  her  mirror,  seeing 
the  withered  wrinkles  made  in  her  face  by  old 
age,  wept,  and  wondered  why  she  had  twice 
been  carried  away.  —  From  Leonardo  da  Vinci's 
note  books. 


TO   THE  SECRET  ROSE 

Far  off,  most  secret,  and  inviolate  Rose, 
Enfold  me  in  my  hour  of  hours ;  where  those 
Who  sought  thee  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
Or  in  the  wine-vat,  dwell  beyond  the  stir 
And  tumult  of  defeated  dreams;  and  deep 
Among  pale  eyelids  heavy  with  the  sleep 
Men  have  named  beauty.     Your  great  leaves 

enfold 
The  ancient  beards,  the  helms  of  ruby  and  gold 
Of  the  crowned  Magi;   and  the  king  whose 

eyes 
Saw  the  Pierced  Hands  and  Rood  of  Elder 

rise 
In  druid  vapour  and  make  the  torches  dim; 
Till  vain  frenzy  awoke  and  he  died;  and  him 
Who  met  Fand  walking  among  flaming  dew, 
By  a  grey  shore  where  the  wind  never  blew, 
And  lost  the  world  and  Emir  for  a  kiss; 
And  him  who  drove  the  gods  out  of  their  liss 
And  till  a  hundred  morns  had  flowered  red 
Feasted,  and  wept  the  barrows  of  his  dead; 
o  81 


82  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

And  the  proud  dreaming  king  who  flung  the 
crown 

And  sorrow  away,  and  calling  hard  and  clown 

Dwelt  among  wine-stained  wanderers  in  deep 
woods; 

And  him  who  sold  tillage  and  house  and 
goods, 

And  sought  through  lands  and  islands  num- 
berless years 

Until  he  found  with  laughter  and  with  tears 

A  woman  of  so  shining  loveliness 

That  men  threshed  corn  at  midnight  by  a  tress, 

A  little  stolen  tress.     I  too  await 

The  hour  of  thy  great  wind  of  love  and  hate. 

When  shall  the  stars  be  blown  about  the  sky, 

Like  the  sparks  blown  out  of  a  smithy,  and 
die? 

Surely  thine  hour  has  come,  thy  great  wind 
blows. 

Far  off,  most  secret,  and  inviolate  Rose? 


THE     CRUCIFIXION     OF     THE 
OUTCAST 

A  MAN,  with  thin  brown  hair  and  a  pale 
face,  half  ran,  half  walked,  along  the  road 
that  wound  from  the  south  to  the  town  of 
Sligo.  Many  called  him  Cumhal,  the  son 
of  Cormac,  and  many  called  him  the  Swift, 
Wild  Horse;  and  he  was  a  gleeman,  and 
he  wore  a  short  parti-coloured  doublet, 
and  had  pointed  shoes,  and  a  bulging 
wallet.  Also  he  was  of  the  blood  of  the 
Ernaans,  and  his  birth-place  was  the  Field 
of  Gold ;  but  his  eating  and  sleeping  places 
were  the  four  provinces  of  Eri,  and  his 
abiding  place  was  not  upon  the  ridge  of  the 
earth.  His  eyes  strayed  from  the  Abbey 
tower  of  the  White  Friars  and  the  town 
battlements  to  a  row  of  crosses  which 
stood  out  against  the  sky  upon  a  hill  a 
little  to  the  eastward  of  the  town,  and  he 
clenched  his  fist,  and  shook  it  at  the 
crosses.  He  knew  they  were  not  empty, 
83 


84  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

for  the  birds  were  fluttering  about  them ; 
and  he  thought  how,  as  Hke  as  not,  just 
such  another  vagabond  as  himself  was 
hanged  on  one  of  them ;  and  he  muttered  : 
'If  it  were  hanging  or  bowstringing,  or 
stoning  or  beheading,  it  would  be  bad 
enough.  But  to  have  the  birds  pecking 
your  eyes  and  the  wolves  eating  your  feet ! 
I  would  that  the  red  wind  of  the  Druids 
had  withered  in  his  cradle  the  soldier  of 
Dathi,  who  brought  the  tree  of  death  out 
of  barbarous  lands,  or  that  the  lightning, 
when  it  smote  Dathi  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  had  smitten  him  also,  or  that 
his  grave  had  been  dug  by  the  green-haired 
and  green-toothed  merrows  deep  at  the 
roots  of  the  deep  sea.' 

While  he  spoke,  he  shivered  from  head 
to  foot,  and  the  sweat  came  out  upon  his 
face,  and  he  knew  not  why,  for  he  had 
looked  upon  many  crosses.  He  passed 
over  two  hills  and  under  the  battlemented 
gate,  and  then  round  by  a  left-hand  way 
to  the  door  of  the  Abbey.  It  was  studded 
with  great  nails,  and  when  he  knocked  at 
it,  he  roused  the  lay  brother  who  was  the 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  OUTCAST     85 

porter,  and  of  him  he  asked  a  place  in  the 
guest-house.  Then  the  lay  brother  took 
a  glowing  turf  on  a  shovel,  and  led  the 
way  to  a  big  and  naked  outhouse  strewn 
with  very  dirty  rushes ;  and  lighted  a 
rush-candle  fixed  between  two  of  the  stones 
of  the  wall,  and  set  the  glowing  turf  upon 
the  hearth  and  gave  him  two  unlighted 
sods  and  a  wisp  of  straw,  and  showed 
him  a  blanket  hanging  from  a  nail,  and 
a  shelf  with  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  jug  of 
water,  and  a  tub  in  a  far  corner.  Then 
the  lay  brother  left  him  and  went  back  to 
his  place  by  the  door.  And  Cumhal  the 
son  of  Cormac  began  to  blow  upon  the 
glowing  turf  that  he  might  light  the  two 
sods  and  the  wisp  of  straw ;  but  the  sods 
and  the  straw  would  not  light,  for  they 
were  damp.  So  he  took  off  his  pointed 
shoes,  and  drew  the  tub  out  of  the  corner 
with  the  thought  of  washing  the  dust  of 
the  highway  from  his  feet ;  but  the  water 
was  so  dirty  that  he  could  not  see  the 
bottom.  He  was  very  hungry,  for  he 
had  not  eaten  all  that  day ;  so  he  did  not 
waste  much  anger  upon  the  tub,  but  took 


86  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

up  the  black  loaf,  and  bit  into  it,  and  then 
spat  out  the  bite,  for  the  bread  was  hard 
and  mouldy.  Still  he  did  not  give  way 
to  his  anger,  for  he  had  not  drunken  these 
many  hours ;  having  a  hope  of  heath  beer 
or  wine  at  his  day's  end,  he  had  left  the 
brooks  untasted,  to  make  his  supper  the 
more  delightful.  Now  he  put  the  jug 
to  his  lips,  but  he  flung  it  from  him  straight- 
way, for  the  water  was  bitter  and  ill-smell- 
ing. Then  he  gave  the  jug  a  kick,  so  that 
it  broke  against  the  opposite  wall,  and  he 
took  down  the  blanket  to  wrap  it  about 
him  for  the  night.  But  no  sooner  did  he 
touch  it  than  it  was  alive  with  skipping 
fleas.  At  this,  beside  himself  with  anger, 
he  rushed  to  the  door  of  the  guest-house, 
but  the  lay  brother,  being  well  accustomed 
to  such  outcries,  had  locked  it  on  the  out- 
side ;  so  he  emptied  the  tub  and  began  to 
beat  the  door  with  it,  till  the  lay  brother 
came  to  the  door  and  asked  what  ailed 
him,  and  why  he  woke  him  out  of  sleep. 
'What  ails  me!'  shouted  Cumhal,  'are 
not  the  sods  as  wet  as  the  sands  of  the 
Three  Rosses?  and  are  not  the  fleas  in 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  OUTCAST     87 

the  blanket  as  many  as  the  waves  of  the 
sea  and  as  lively?  and  is  not  the  bread  as 
hard  as  the  heart  of  a  lay  brother  who  has 
forgotten  God  ?  and  is  not  the  water  in 
the  jug  as  bitter  and  as  ill-smelhng  as  his 
soul  ?  and  is  not  the  foot-water  the  colour 
that  shall  be  upon  him  when  he  has  been 
charred  in  the  Undying  Fires?'  The  lay 
brother  saw  that  the  lock  was  fast,  and 
went  back  to  his  niche,  for  he  was  too 
sleepy  to  talk  with  comfort.  And  Cumhal 
went  on  beating  at  the  door,  and  presently 
he  heard  the  lay  brother's  foot  once  more, 
and  cried  out  at  him,  'O  cowardly  and 
tyrannous  race  of  friars,  persecutors  of 
the  bard  and  the  gleeman,  haters  of  life 
and  joy  !  O  race  that  does  not  draw  the 
sword  and  tell  the  truth  !  O  race  that 
melts  the  bones  of  the  people  with  coward- 
ice and  with  deceit ! ' 

'Gleeman,'  said  the  lay  brother,  'I  also 
make  rhymes ;  I  make  many  while  I  sit 
in  my  niche  by  the  door,  and  I  sorrow  to 
hear  the  bards  railing  upon  the  friars. 
Brother,  I  would  sleep,  and  therefore  I 
make  known  to  you  that  it  is  the  head  of 


88  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

the  monastery,  our  gracious  abbot,  who 
orders  all  things  concerning  the  lodging 
of  travellers.' 

'You  may  sleep,'  said  Cumhal,  'I  will 
sing  a  bard's  curse  on  the  abbot.'  And 
he  set  the  tub  upside  down  under  the 
window,  and  stood  upon  it,  and  began  to 
sing  in  a  very  loud  voice.  The  singing 
awoke  the  abbot,  so  that  he  sat  up  in  bed 
and  blew  a  silver  whistle  until  the  lay 
brother  came  to  him.  'I  cannot  get  a 
wink  of  sleep  with  that  noise,'  said  the 
abbot.     'What  is  happening?' 

'It  is  a  gleeman,'  said  the  lay  brother, 
'who  complains  of  the  sods,  of  the  bread, 
of  the  water  in  the  jug,  of  the  foot-water, 
and  of  the  blanket.  And  now  he  is  sing- 
ing a  bard's  curse  upon  you,  O  brother 
abbot,  and  upon  your  father  and  your 
mother,  and  your  grandfather  and  your 
grandmother,  and  upon  all  your  relations.' 

'Is  he  cursing  in  rhyme  ?' 

'He  is  cursing  in  rhyme,  and  with  two 
assonances  in  every  line  of  his  curse.' 

The  abbot  pulled  his  night-cap  off  and 
crumpled  it  in  his  hands,  and  the  circular 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  OUTCAST     89 

brown  patch  of  hair  in  the  middle  of  his 
bald  head  looked  like  an  island  in  the  midst 
of  a  pond,  for  in  Connaught  they  had  not 
yet  abandoned  the  ancient  tonsure  for  the 
style  then  coming  into  use.  'Unless  we 
do  not  somewhat,'  he  said,  'he  will  teach 
his  curses  to  the  children  in  the  street,  and 
the  girls  spinning  at  the  doors,  and  to  the 
robbers  upon  Ben  Bulben.' 

'Shall  I  go,  then,'  said  the  other,  'and 
give  him  dry  sods,  a  fresh  loaf,  clean  water 
in  a  jug,  clean  foot-water,  and  a  new 
blanket,  and  make  him  swear  by  the 
blessed  Saint  Benignus,  and  by  the  sun 
and  moon,  that  no  bond  be  lacking,  not 
to  tell  his  rhymes  to  the  children  in  the 
street,  and  the  girls  spinning  at  the  doors, 
and  the  robbers  upon  Ben  Bulben  ? ' 

'Neither  our  Blessed  Patron  nor  the  sun 
and  moon  would  avail  at  all,'  said  the 
abbot;  'for  to-morrow  or  the  next  day 
the  mood  to  curse  would  come  upon  him, 
or  a  pride  in  those  rhymes  would  move 
him,  and  he  would  teach  his  lines  to  the 
children,  and  the  girls,  and  the  robbers. 
Or  else  he  would  tell  another  of  his  craft 


90  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

how  he  fared  in  the  guest-house,  and  he  in 
his  turn  would  begin  to  curse,  and  my 
name  would  wither.  For  learn  there  is  no 
steadfastness  of  purpose  upon  the  roads, 
but  only  under  roofs  and  between  four 
walls.  Therefore  I  bid  you  go  and  awaken 
Brother  Kevin,  Brother  Dove,  Brother 
Little  Wolf,  Brother  Bald  Patrick,  Brother 
Bald  Brandon,  Brother  James  and  Brother 
Peter.  And  they  shall  take  the  man, 
and  bind  him  with  ropes,  and  dip  him 
in  the  river  that  he  shall  cease  to  sing. 
And  in  the  morning,  lest  this  but  make 
him  curse  the  louder,  we  will  crucify 
him.' 

'The  crosses  are  all  full,'  said  the  lay 
brother. 

'Then  we  must  make  another  cross.  If 
we  do  not  make  an  end  of  him  another  will, 
for  who  can  eat  and  sleep  in  peace  while 
men  like  him  are  going  about  the  world? 
Ill  should  we  stand  before  blessed  Saint 
Benignus,  and  sour  would  be  his  face  when 
he  comes  to  judge  us  at  the  Last  Day, 
were  we  to  spare  an  enemy  of  his  when 
we  had  him  under  our  thumb  !     Brother, 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  OUTCAST     91 

the  bards  and  the  gleemen  are  an  evil  race, 
ever  cursing  and  ever  stirring  up  the  people, 
and  immoral  and  immoderate  in  all  things, 
and  heathen  in  their  hearts,  always  longing 
after  the  Son  of  Lir,  and  Aengus,  and  Brid- 
get, and  the  Dagda,  and  Dana  the  Mother, 
and  all  the  false  gods  of  the  old  days; 
always  making  poems  in  praise  of  those 
kings  and  queens  of  the  demons,  Finvaragh, 
whose  home  is  under  Cruachmaa,  and  Red 
Aodh  of  Cnocna-Sidhe,  and  Cleena  of  the 
Wave,  and  Aoibhell  of  the  Grey  Rock, 
and  him  they  call  Donn  of  the  Vats  of  the 
Sea;  and  railing  against  God  and  Christ 
and  the  blessed  Saints.'  While  he  was 
speaking  he  crossed  himself,  and  when  he 
had  finished  he  drew  the  night-cap  over  his 
ears,  to  shut  out  the  noise,  and  closed  his 
eyes,  and  composed  himself  to  sleep. 

The  lay  brother  found  Brother  Kevin, 
Brother  Dove,  Brother  Little  Wolf,  Brother 
Bald  Patrick,  Brother  Bald  Brandon, 
Brother  James  and  Brother  Peter  sitting 
up  in  bed,  and  he  made  them  get  up.  Then 
they  bound  Cumhal,  and  they  dragged 
him  to  the  river,  and  they  dipped  him  in  it 


92  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

at  the  place  which  was  afterwards  called 
Buckley's  Ford. 

'Gleeman/  said  the  lay  brother,  as  they 
led  him  back  to  the  guest-house,  'why  do 
you  ever  use  the  wit  which  God  has  given 
you  to  make  blasphemous  and  immoral 
tales  and  verses  ?  For  such  is  the  way  of 
your  craft.  I  have,  indeed,  many  such 
tales  and  verses  well  nigh  by  rote,  and  so 
I  know  that  I  speak  true  !  And  why  do 
you  praise  with  rhyme  those  demons, 
Finvaragh,  Red  Aodh,  Cleena,  Aoibhell 
and  Donn?  I,  too,  am  a  man  of  great 
wit  and  learning,  but  I  ever  glorify  our 
gracious  abbot,  and  Benignus  our  Patron, 
and  the  princes  of  the  province.  My  soul 
is  decent  and  orderly,  but  yours  is  like 
the  wind  among  the  salley  gardens.  I 
said  what  I  could  for  you,  being  also  a 
man  of  many  thoughts,  but  who  could 
help  such  a  one  as  you?' 

'Friend,'  answered  the  gleeman,  'my 
soul  is  indeed  like  the  wind,  and  it  blows 
me  to  and  fro,  and  up  and  down,  and  puts 
many  things  into  my  mind  and  out  of  my 
mind,  and  therefore  am  I  called  the  Swift, 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  OUTCAST     93 

Wild  Horse.'  And  he  spoke  no  more  that 
night,  for  his  teeth  were  chattering  with 
the  cold. 

The  abbot  and  the  friars  came  to  him 
in  the  morning,  and  bade  him  get  ready 
to  be  crucified,  and  led  him  out  of  the 
guest-house.  And  while  he  still  stood 
upon  the  step  a  flock  of  great  grass- 
barnacles  passed  high  above  him  with 
clanking  cries.  He  lifted  his  arms  to 
them  and  said,  *0  great  grass-barnacles, 
tarry  a  little,  and  mayhap  my  soul  will 
travel  with  you  to  the  waste  places  of  the 
shore  and  to  the  ungovernable  sea  ! '  At 
the  gate  a  crowd  of  beggars  gathered  about 
them,  being  come  there  to  beg  from  any 
traveller  or  pilgrim  who  might  have  spent 
the  night  in  the  guest-house.  The  abbot 
and  the  friars  led  the  gleeman  to  a  place 
in  the  woods  at  some  distance,  where  many 
straight  young  trees  were  growing,  and 
they  made  him  cut  one  down  and  fashion 
it  to  the  right  length,  while  the  beggars 
stood  round  them  in  a  ring,  talking  and 
gesticulating.  The  abbot  then  bade  him 
cut  off  another  and  shorter  piece  of  wood. 


94  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

and  nail  it  upon  the  first.  So  there  was 
his  cross  for  him;  and  they  put  it  upon 
his  shoulder,  for  his  crucifixion  was  to  be 
on  the  top  of  the  hill  where  the  others  were. 
A  half-mile  on  the  way  he  asked  them  to 
stop  and  see  him  juggle  for  them ;  for 
he  knew,  he  said,  all  the  tricks  of  Aengus 
the  Subtle-hearted.  The  old  friars  were 
for  pressing  on,  but  the  young  friars  would 
see  him :  so  he  did  many  wonders  for 
them,  even  to  the  drawing  of  live  frogs 
out  of  his  ears.  But  after  a  while  they 
turned  on  him,  and  said  his  tricks  were 
dull  and  a  shade  unholy,  and  set  the  cross 
on  his  shoulders  again.  Another  half- 
mile  on  the  way,  and  he  asked  them  to  stop 
and  hear  him  jest  for  them,  for  he  knew,  he 
said,  all  the  jests  of  Conan  the  Bald,  upon 
whose  back  a  sheep's  wool  grew.  And  the 
young  friars,  when  they  had  heard  his 
merry  tales,  again  bade  him  take  up  his 
cross,  for  it  ill  became  them  to  listen  to 
such  follies.  Another  half-mile  on  the 
way,  he  asked  them  to  stop  and  hear  him 
sing  the  story  of  White-breasted  Deirdre, 
and  how  she  endured  many  sorrows,  and 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  OUTCAST     95 

how  the  sons  of  Usna  died  to  serve  her. 
And  the  young  friars  were  mad  to  hear 
him,  but  when  he  had  ended  they  grew 
angry,  and  beat  him  for  waking  forgotten 
longings  in  their  hearts.  So  they  set  the 
cross  upon  his  back  and  hurried  him  to  the 
hill. 

When  he  was  come  to  the  top,  they  took 
the  cross  from  him,  and  began  to  dig  a  hole 
to  stand  it  in,  while  the  beggars  gathered 
round,  and  talked  among  themselves.  'I 
ask  a  favour  before  I  die,'  says  Cumhal. 

'We  will  grant  you  no  more  delays,'  says 
the  abbot. 

'I  ask  no  more  delays,  for  I  have  drawn 
the  sword,  and  told  the  truth,  and  lived  my 
vision,  and  am  content.' 

'Would  you,  then,  confess?' 

'By  sun  and  moon,  not  I ;  I  ask  but  to 
be  let  eat  the  food  I  carry  in  my  wallet. 
I  carry  food  in  my  wallet  whenever  I  go 
upon  a  journey,  but  I  do  not  taste  of  it 
unless  I  am  well-nigh  starved.  I  have 
not  eaten  now  these  two  days.' 

'You  may  eat,  then,'  says  the  abbot, 
and  he  turned  to  help  the  friars  dig  the  hole. 


96  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

The  gleeman  took  a  loaf  and  some  strips 
of  cold  fried  bacon  out  of  his  wallet  and 
laid  them  upon  the  ground.  'I  will  give  a 
tithe  to  the  poor,'  says  he,  and  he  cut  a 
tenth  part  from  the  loaf  and  the  bacon. 
'Who  among  you  is  the  poorest?'  And 
thereupon  was  a  great  clamour,  for  the 
beggars  began  the  history  of  their  sorrows 
and  their  poverty,  and  their  yellow  faces 
swayed  like  Gara  Lough  when  the  floods 
have  filled  it  with  water  from  the  bogs. 

He  listened  for  a  little,  and,  says  he,  'I 
am  myself  the  poorest,  for  I  have  travelled 
the  bare  road,  and  by  the  edges  of  the  sea ; 
and  the  tattered  doublet  of  parti-coloured 
cloth  upon  my  back  and  the  torn  pointed 
shoes  upon  my  feet  have  ever  irked  me, 
because  of  the  towered  city  full  of  noble 
raiment  which  was  in  my  heart.  And  I 
have  been  the  more  alone  upon  the  roads 
and  by  the  sea  because  I  heard  in  my  heart 
the  rustling  of  the  rose-bordered  dress  of 
her  who  is  more  subtle  than  Aengus,  the 
Subtle-hearted,  and  more  full  of  the  beauty 
of  laughter  than  Conan  the  Bald,  and  more 
full  of  the  wisdom  of  tears  than  White- 


CRUCIFIXION  OF   THE  OUTCAST     97 

breasted  Deirdre,  and  more  lovely  than  a 
bursting  dawn  to  them  that  are  lost  in  the 
darkness.  Therefore,  I  award  the  tithe 
to  myself ;  but  yet,  because  I  am  done 
with  all  things,  I  give  it  unto  you.' 

So  he  flung  the  bread  and  the  strips  of 
bacon  among  the  beggars,  and  they  fought 
with  many  cries  until  the  last  scrap  was 
eaten.  But  meanwhile  the  friars  nailed 
the  gleeman  to  his  cross,  and  set  it  upright 
in  the  hole,  and  shovelled  the  earth  in  at 
the  foot,  and  trampled  it  level  and  hard. 
So  then  they  went  away,  but  the  beggars 
stayed  on,  sitting  round  the  cross.  But 
when  the  sun  was  sinking,  they  also  got 
up  to  go,  for  the  air  was  getting  chilly. 
And  as  soon  as  they  had  gone  a  little  way, 
the  wolves,  who  had  been  showing  them- 
selves on  the  edge  of  a  neighbouring  cop- 
pice, came  nearer,  and  the  birds  wheeled 
closer  and  closer.  'Stay,  outcasts,  yet  a 
little  while,'  the  crucified  one  called  in  a 
weak  voice  to  the  beggars,  'and  keep  the 
beasts  and  the  birds  from  me.'  But  the 
beggars  were  angry  because  he  had  called 
them  outcasts,  so  they  threw  stones  and 


98  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

mud  at  him,  and  went  their  way.  Then 
the  wolves  gathered  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross,  and  the  birds  flew  lower  and  lower. 
And  presently  the  birds  lighted  all  at  once 
upon  his  head  and  arms  and  shoulders, 
and  began  to  peck  at  him,  and  the  wolves 
began  to  eat  his  feet.  'Outcasts,'  he 
moaned,  'have  you  also  turned  against  the 
outcast  ? ' 


OUT  OF  THE  ROSE 

One  winter  evening  an  old  knight  in 
rusted  chain-armour  rode  slowly  along 
the  woody  southern  slope  of  Ben  Bulben, 
watching  the  sun  go  down  in  crimson  clouds 
over  the  sea.  His  horse  was  tired,  as  after 
a  long  journey,  and  he  had  upon  his  helmet 
the  crest  of  no  neighbouring  lord  or  king, 
but  a  small  rose  made  of  rubies  that,  glim- 
mered every  moment  to  a  deeper  crimson. 
His  white  hair  fell  in  thin  curls  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  its  disorder  added  to  the 
melancholy  of  his  face,  which  was  the  face 
of  one  of  those  who  have  come  but  seldom 
into  the  world,  and  always  for  its  trouble, 
the  dreamers  who  must  do  what  they 
dream,  the  doers  who  must  dream  what 
they  do. 

After  gazing  a  while  towards  the  sun,  he 
let  the  reins  fall  upon  the  neck  of  his  horse, 
and,  stretching  out  both  arms  towards  the 
99 


100  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

west,  he  said,  *  0  Divine  Rose  of  Intellect- 
ual Flame,  let  the  gates  of  thy  peace  be 
opened  to  me  at  last ! '  And  suddenly  a 
loud  squealing  began  in  the  woods  some 
hundreds  of  yards  further  up  the  mountain 
side.  He  stopped  his  horse  to  listen,  and 
heard  behind  him  a  sound  of  feet  and  of 
voices.  'They  are  beating  them  to  make 
them  go  into  the  narrow  path  by  the  gorge,' 
said  someone,  and  in  another  moment  a 
dozen  peasants  armed  with  short  spears 
had  come  up  with  the  knight,  and  stood  a 
little  apart  from  him,  their  blue  caps  in 
their  hands. 

'Where  do  you  go  with  the  spears?'  he 
asked;  and  one  who  seemed  the  leader 
answered :  'A  troop  of  wood- thieves  came 
down  from  the  hills  a  while  ago  and  carried 
off  the  pigs  belonging  to  an  old  man  who 
lives  by  Glen  Car  Lough,  and  we  turned 
out  to  go  after  them.  Now  that  we  know 
they  are  four  times  more  than  we  are, 
we  follow  to  find  the  way  they  have  taken ; 
and  will  presently  tell  our  story  to  De 
Courcey,  and  if  he  will  not  help  us,  to 
Fitzgerald ;    for   De   Courcey   and   Fitz- 


OUT  OF  THE  ROSE  101 

gerald  have  lately  made  a  peace,  and  we 
do  not  know  to  whom  we  belong.' 

'But  by  that  time,'  said  the  knight,  'the 
pigs  will  have  been  eaten.' 

'A  dozen  men  cannot  do  more,  and  it 
was  not  reasonable  that  the  whole  valley 
should  turn  out  and  risk  their  lives  for 
two,  or  for  two  dozen  pigs.' 

'Can  you  tell  me,'  said  the  knight,  'if 
the  old  man  to  whom  the  pigs  belong  is 
pious  and  true  of  heart  ? ' 

'He  is  as  true  as  another  and  more 
pious  than  any,  for  he  says  a  prayer 
to  a  saint  every  morning  before  his 
breakfast.' 

'Then  it  were  well  to  fight  in  his  cause,' 
said  the  knight,  'and  if  you  will  fight 
against  the  wood-thieves  I  will  take  the 
main  brunt  of  the  battle,  and  you  know 
well  that  a  man  in  armour  is  worth  many 
like  these  wood-thieves,  clad  in  wool  and 
leather.' 

And  the  leader  turned  to  his  fellows  and 
asked  if  they  would  take  the  chance ;  but 
they  seemed  anxious  to  get  back  to  their 
cabins. 


102  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

'Are  the  wood- thieves  treacherous  and 
impious  ? ' 

'They  are  treacherous  in  all  their  deal- 
ings/ said  a  peasant,  'and  no  man  has 
known  them  to  pray.' 

'Then,'  said  the  knight,  'I  will  give  five 
crowns  for  the  head  of  every  wood-thief 
killed  by  us  in  the  fighting ' ;  and  he  bid 
the  leader  show  the  way,  and  they  all 
went  on  together.  After  a  time  they 
came  to  where  a  beaten  track  wound  into 
the  woods,  and,  taking  this,  they  doubled 
back  upon  their  previous  course,  and  began 
to  ascend  the  wooded  slope  of  the  moun- 
tains. In  a  little  while  the  path  grew 
very  straight  and  steep,  and  the  knight 
was  forced  to  dismount  and  leave  his  horse 
tied  to  a  tree-stem.  They  knew  they 
were  on  the  right  track :  for  they  could 
see  the  marks  of  pointed  shoes  in  the  soft 
clay  and  mingled  with  them  the  cloven 
footprints  of  the  pigs.  Presently  the  path 
became  still  more  abrupt,  and  they  knew 
by  the  ending  of  the  cloven  footprints 
that  the  thieves  were  carrying  the  pigs. 
Now  and  then  a  long  mark  in  the  clay 


OUT  OF  THE  ROSE  103 

showed  that  a  pig  had  slipped  down,  and 
been  dragged  along  for  a  little  way.  They 
had  journeyed  thus  for  about  twenty 
minutes,  when  a  confused  sound  of  voices 
told  them  that  they  were  coming  up  with 
the  thieves.  And  then  the  voices  ceased, 
and  they  understood  that  they  had  been 
overheard  in  their  turn.  They  pressed  on 
rapidly  and  cautiously,  and  in  about  five 
minutes  one  of  them  caught  sight  of  a 
leather  jerkin  half  hidden  by  a  hazel-bush. 
An  arrow  struck  the  knight's  chain- 
armour,  but  glanced  off  harmlessly,  and 
then  a  flight  of  arrows  swept  by  them  with 
the  buzzing  sound  of  great  bees.  They 
ran  and  climbed,  and  climbed  and  ran 
towards  the  thieves,  who  were  now  all  vis- 
ible standing  up  among  the  bushes  with 
their  still  quivering  bows  in  their  hands  :  for 
they  had  only  their  spears  and  they  must 
at  once  come  hand  to  hand.  The  knight 
was  in  the  front  and  struck  down  first 
one  and  then  another  of  the  wood-thieves. 
The  peasants  shouted,  and,  pressing  on, 
drove  the  wood-thieves  before  them  until 
they  came  out  on  the  flat  top  of  the  moun- 


104  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

tain,  and  there  they  saw  the  two  pigs 
quietly  grubbing  in  the  short  grass,  so 
they  ran  about  them  in  a  circle,  and  began 
to  move  back  again  towards  the  narrow 
path :  the  old  knight  coming  now  the  last 
of  all,  and  striking  down  thief  after  thief. 
The  peasants  had  got  no  very  serious  hurts 
among  them,  for  he  had  drawn  the  brunt 
of  the  battle  upon  himself,  as  could  well  be 
seen  from  the  bloody  rents  in  his  armour ; 
and  when  they  came  to  the  entrance  of  the 
narrow  path  he  told  them  to  drive  the  pigs 
down  into  the  valley,  while  he  stood  there 
to  guard  the  way  behind  them.  So  in  a 
moment  he  was  alone,  and,  being  weak 
with  loss  of  blood,  might  have  been  ended 
there  and  then  by  the  wood-thieves  had 
fear  not  made  them  begone  out  of  sight 
in  a  great  hurry. 

An  hour  passed,  and  they  did  not  return ; 
and  now  the  knight  could  stand  on  guard 
no  longer,  but  had  to  lie  down  upon  the 
grass.  A  half-hour  more  went  by,  and 
then  a  young  lad  with  what  appeared  to 
be  a  number  of  cock's  feathers  stuck  round 
his  hat,  came  out  of  the  path  behind  him. 


OUT  OF  THE  ROSE  105 

and  began  to  move  about  among  the  dead 
thieves,  cutting  their  heads  off.  Then 
he  laid  the  heads  in  a  heap  before  the 
knight,  and  said :  '  0  great  knight,  I  have 
been  bid  come  and  ask  you  for  the  crowns 
you  promised  for  the  heads :  five  crowns 
a  head.  They  told  me  to  tell  you  that 
they  have  prayed  to  God  and  His  Mother 
to  give  you  a  long  life,  but  that  they  are 
poor  peasants,  and  that  they  would  have 
the  money  before  you  die.  They  told 
me  this  over  and  over  for  fear  I  might  for- 
get it,  and  promised  to  beat  me  if  I  did.' 

The  knight  raised  himself  upon  his  el- 
bow, and  opening  a  bag  that  hung  to  his 
belt,  counted  out  the  five  crowns  for  each 
head.     There  were  thirty  heads  in  all. 

'0  great  knight,'  said  the  lad,  'they  have 
also  bid  me  take  all  care  of  you,  and  light  a 
fire,  and  put  this  ointment  upon  your 
wounds.'  And  he  gathered  sticks  and 
leaves  together,  and,  flashing  his  flint  and 
steel  under  a  mass  of  dry  leaves,  had  made 
a  very  good  blaze.  Then,  drawing  off  the 
coat  of  mail,  he  began  to  anoint  the 
wounds :   but  he  did  it  clumsily,  like  one 


106  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

who  does  by  rote  what  he  had  been  told. 
The  knight  motioned  him  to  stop,  and 
said  :   '  You  seem  a  good  lad. ' 

'I  would  ask  something  of  you  for 
myself.' 

'There  are  still  a  few  crowns/  said  the 
knight ;  '  shall  I  give  them  to  you  ? ' 

'O  no/  said  the  lad.  'They  would  be 
no  good  to  me.  There  is  only  one  thing 
that  I  care  about  doing,  and  I  have  no  need 
of  money  to  do  it.  I  go  from  village  to 
village  and  from  hill  to  hill,  and  whenever 
I  come  across  a  good  cock  I  steal  him  and 
take  him  into  the  woods,  and  I  keep  him 
there  under  a  basket  until  I  get  another 
good  cock,  and  then  I  set  them  to  fight. 
The  people  say  I  am  an  innocent,  and  do 
not  do  me  any  harm,  and  never  ask  me  to 
do  any  work  but  go  a  message  now  and 
then.  It  is  because  I  am  an  innocent  that 
they  send  me  to  get  the  crowns :  anyone 
else  would  steal  them ;  and  they  dare  not 
come  back  themselves,  for  now  that  you 
are  not  with  them  they  are  afraid  of  the 
wood- thieves.  Did  you  ever  hear  how, 
when  the  wood-thieves  are  christened,  the 


OVT  OF  THE  ROSE  107 

wolves  are  made  their  god-fathers,  and 
their  right  arms  are  not  christened  at  all  ? ' 

'If  you  will  not  take  these  crowns,  my 
good  lad,  I  have  nothing  for  you,  I  fear, 
unless  you  would  have  that  old  coat  of 
mail  which  I  shall  soon  need  no  more.' 

'There  was  something  I  wanted  :  yes,  I 
remember  now,'  said  the  lad.  'I  want  you 
to  tell  me  why  you  fought  like  the  cham- 
pions and  giants  in  the  stories  and  for  so 
little  a  thing.  Are  you  indeed  a  man  like 
us?  Are  you  not  rather  an  old  wizard 
who  lives  among  these  hills,  and  will  not  a 
wind  arise  presently  and  crumble  you  into 
dust?' 

'I  will  tell  you  of  myself,'  repHed  the 
knight,  'for  now  that  I  am  the  last  of  the 
fellowship,  I  may  tell  all  and  witness  for 
God.  Look  at  the  Rose  of  Rubies  on  my 
helmet,  and  see  the  symbol  of  my  life  and 
of  my  hope.'  And  then  he  told  the  lad 
this  story,  but  with  always  more  frequent 
pauses;  and,  while  he  told  it,  the  Rose 
shone  a  deep  blood-colour  in  the  firelight, 
and  the  lad  stuck  the  cock's  feathers  in 
the  earth  in  front  of  him,  and  moved  them 


108  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

about  as  though  he  made  them  actors  in 
the  play. 

'I  Uve  in  a  land  far  from  this,  and  was 
one  of  the  Knights  of  St.  John/  said  the 
old  man;  'but  I  was  one  of  those  in  the 
Order  who  always  longed  for  more  arduous 
labours  in  the  service  of  the  truth  that  can 
only  be  understood  within  the  heart.  At 
last  there  came  to  us  a  knight  of  Palestine, 
to  whom  the  truth  of  truths  had  been 
revealed  by  God  Himself.  He  had  seen 
a  great  Rose  of  Fire,  and  a  Voice  out  of 
the  Rose  had  told  him  how  men  would 
turn  from  the  light  of  their  own  hearts,  and 
bow  down  before  outer  order  and  outer 
fixity,  and  that  then  the  light  would  cease, 
and  none  escape  the  curse  except  the  foolish 
good  man  who  could  not,  and  the  passion- 
ate wicked  man  who  would  not,  think. 
Already,  the  Voice  told  him,  the  wayward 
light  of  the  heart  was  shining  out  upon 
the  world  to  keep  the  world  alive,  with  a  less 
clear  lustre,  and  that,  as  it  paled,  a  strange 
infection  was  touching  the  stars  and  the 
hills  and  the  grass  and  the  trees  with  cor- 
ruption, and  that  none  of  those  who  had 


OUT  OF  THE  ROSE  109 

seen  clearly  the  truth  and  the  ancient  way 
could  enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  God,  which 
is  in  the  Heart  of  the  Rose,  if  they  stayed 
on  willingly  in  the  corrupted  world ;  and 
so  they  must  prove  their  anger  against 
the  Powers  of  Corruption  by  dying  in  the 
service  of  the  Rose  of  God.  While  the 
Knight  of  Palestine  was  telling  us  these 
things  we  seemed  to  see  in  a  vision  a  crim- 
son Rose  spreading  itself  about  him,  so 
that  he  seemed  to  speak  out  of  its  heart, 
and  the  air  was  filled  with  fragrance.  By 
this  we  knew  that  it  was  the  very  Voice 
of  God  which  spoke  to  us  by  the  knight, 
and  we  told  him  to  direct  us  in  all  things, 
and  teach  us  how  to  obey  the  Voice.  So 
he  bound  us  with  an  oath,  and  gave  us 
signs  and  words  whereby  we  might  know 
each  other  even  after  many  years,  and  he 
appointed  places  of  meeting,  and  he  sent 
us  out  in  troops  into  the  world  to  seek  good 
causes,  and  die  in  doing  battle  for  them. 
At  first  we  thought  to  die  more  readily  by 
fasting  to  death  in  honour  of  some  saint ; 
but  this  he  told  us  was  evil,  for  we  did  it 
for  the  sake  of  death,  and  thus  took  out 


no  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

of  the  hands  of  God  the  choice  of  the  time 
and  manner  of  our  death,  and  by  so  doing 
made  His  power  the  less.  We  must  choose 
our  service  for  its  excellence,  and  for  this 
alone,  and  leave  it  to  God  to  reward  us 
at  His  own  time  and  in  His  own  manner. 
And  after  this  he  compelled  us  to  eat 
always  two  at  a  table  to  watch  each  other 
lest  we  fasted  unduly.  And  the  years 
passed,  and  one  by  one  my  fellows  died 
in  the  Holy  Land,  or  in  warring  upon  the 
evil  princes  of  the  earth,  or  in  clearing 
the  roads  of  robbers ;  and  among  them 
died  the  knight  of  Palestine,  and  at  last 
I  was  alone.  I  fought  in  every  cause 
where  the  few  contended  against  the  many, 
and  my  hair  grew  white,  and  a  terrible 
fear  lest  I  had  fallen  under  the  displeasure 
of  God  came  upon  me.  But,  hearing  at 
last  how  this  western  isle  was  fuller  of  wars 
and  rapine  than  any  other  land,  I  came 
hither,  and  I  have  found  the  thing  I  sought, 
and,  behold  !  I  am  filled  with  a  great  joy.' 
Thereat  he  began  to  sing  in  Latin,  and, 
while  he  sang,  his  voice  faltered  and  grew 
faint.    Then  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  lips 


OUT  OF  THE  ROSE  111 

fell  apart,  and  the  lad  knew  he  was  dead. 
'He  has  told  me  a  good  tale/  he  said,  'for 
there  was  fighting  in  it,  but  I  did  not  under- 
stand much  of  it,  and  it  is  hard  to  remember 
so  long  a  story.' 

And,  taking  the  knight's  sword,  he  be- 
gan to  dig  a  grave  in  the  soft  clay.  He 
dug  hard,  and  a  faint  light  of  dawn  had 
touched  his  hair  and  he  had  almost  done 
his  work  when  a  cock  crowed  in  the  valley 
below.  *Ah,'  he  said,  'I  must  have  that 
bird ' ;  and  he  ran  down  the  narrow  path 
to  the  valley. 


THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  KING 

The  High-Queen  of  Ireland  had  died 
in  childbirth,  and  her  child  was  put  to 
nurse  with  a  woman  who  lived  in  a  little 
house,  within  the  border  of  the  wood.  One 
night  the  woman  sat  rocking  the  cradle, 
and  meditating  upon  the  beauty  of  the 
child,  and  praying  that  the  gods  might 
grant  him  wisdom  equal  to  his  beauty. 
There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  she 
got  up,  not  a  little  wondering,  for  the  near- 
est neighbours  were  in  the  High-King's 
house  a  mile  away;  and  the  night  was 
now  late.  'Who  is  knocking?'  she  cried, 
and  a  thin  voice  answered,  '  Open  !  for  I 
am  a  crone  of  the  grey  hawk,  and  I  come 
from  the  darkness  of  the  great  wood.'  In 
terror  she  drew  back  the  bolt,  and  a  grey- 
clad  woman,  of  a  great  age,  and  of  a  height 
more  than  human,  came  in  and  stood  by 
the  head  of  the  cradle.     The  nurse  shrank 

112 


THE  WISDOM  OF   THE  KING       113 

back  against  the  wall,  unable  to  take  her 
eyes  from  the  woman,  for  she  saw  by  the 
gleaming  of  the  firelight  that  the  feathers 
of  the  grey  hawk  were  upon  her  head  in- 
stead of  hair.  But  the  child  slept,  and 
the  fire  danced,  for  the  one  was  too  ig- 
norant and  the  other  too  full  of  gaiety  to 
know  what  a  dreadful  being  stood  there. 
'  Open  ! '  cried  another  voice,  '  for  I  am  a 
crone  of  the  grey  hawk,  and  I  watch  over 
his  nest  in  the  darkness  of  the  great  wood.' 
The  nurse  opened  the  door  again,  though 
her  fingers  could  scarce  hold  the  bolts  for 
trembling,  and  another  grey  woman,  not 
less  old  than  the  other,  and  with  like 
feathers  instead  of  hair,  came  in  and  stood 
by  the  first.  In  a  little,  came  a  third  grey 
woman,  and  after  her  a  fourth,  and  then 
another  and  another  and  another,  until 
the  hut  was  full  of  their  immense  bodies. 
They  stood  a  long  time  in  perfect  silence 
and  stillness,  for  they  were  of  those  whom 
the  dropping  of  the  sand  has  never  troub- 
led, but  at  last  one  muttered  in  a  low  thin 
voice :  '  Sisters,  I  knew  him  far  away  by 
the  redness  of  his  heart  under  his  silver 


114  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

skin' ;  and  then  another  spoke :  '  Sisters, 
I  knew  him  because  his  heart  fluttered 
hke  a  bird  under  a  net  of  silver  cords' ; 
and  then  another  took  up  the  word : 
'  Sisters,  I  knew  him  because  his  heart  sang 
Uke  a  bird  that  is  happy  in  a  silver  cage.' 
And  after  that  they  sang  together,  those 
who  were  nearest  rocking  the  cradle  with 
long  wrinkled  fingers;  and  their  voices 
were  now  tender  and  caressing,  now  like 
the  wind  blowing  in  the  great  wood,  and 
this  was  their  song : 

Out  of  sight  is  out  of  mind : 
Long  have  man  and  woman-kind, 
Heavy  of  will  and  light  of  mood. 
Taken  away  our  wheaten  food. 
Taken  away  our  Altar  stone ; 
Hail  and  rain  and  thunder  alone, 
And  red  hearts  we  turn  to  grey, 
Are  true  till  Time  gutter  away. 

When  the  song  had  died  out,  the  crone 
who  had  first  spoken,  said :  'We  have 
nothing  more  to  do  but  to  mix  a  drop  of 
our  blood  into  his  blood.'  And  she 
scratched  her  arm  with  the  sharp  point  of 
a  spindle,  which  she  had  made  the  nurse 


THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  KING      115 

bring  to  her,  and  let  a  drop  of  blood,  grey 
as  the  mist,  fall  upon  the  lips  of  the  child ; 
and  passed  out  into  the  darkness.  Then 
the  others  passed  out  in  silence  one  by  one ; 
and  all  the  while  the  child  had  not  opened 
his  pink  eyelids  or  the  fire  ceased  to  dance, 
for  the  one  was  too  ignorant  and  the  other 
too  full  of  gaiety  to  know  what  great 
beings  had  bent  over  the  cradle. 

When  the  crones  were  gone,  the  nurse 
came  to  her  courage  again,  and  hurried  to 
the  High-King's  house,  and  cried  out  in 
the  midst  of  the  assembly  hall  that  the 
Sidhe,  whether  for  good  or  evil  she  knew 
not,  had  bent  over  the  child  that  night; 
and  the  king  and  his  poets  and  men  of  law, 
and  his  hunstmen,  and  his  cooks,  and  his 
chief  warriors  went  with  her  to  the  hut 
and  gathered  about  the  cradle,  and  were 
as  noisy  as  magpies,  and  the  child  sat  up 
and  looked  at  them. 

Two  years  passed  over,  and  the  king  died 
fighting  against  the  Fer  Bolg;  and  the 
poets  and  the  men  of  law  ruled  in  the  name 
of  the  child,  but  looked  to  see  him  become 
the  master  himself  before  long,  for  no  one 


116  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

had  seen  so  wise  a  child,  and  tales  of  his 
endless  questions  about  the  world  and  the 
gods  went  hither  and  thither  among  the 
houses  of  the  poor.  Everything  had  been 
well  but  for  a  miracle  that  began  to  trouble 
all  men ;  and  all  women,  who,  indeed, 
talked  of  it  without  ceasing.  The  feathers 
of  the  grey  hawk  had  begun  to  grow  in 
the  child's  hair,  and  though  his  nurse  cut 
them  continually,  in  but  a  little  while  they 
would  be  more  numerous  than  ever.  This 
had  not  been  a  matter  of  great  importance, 
for  miracles  were  a  little  thing  in  those  days, 
but  for  an  ancient  law  of  Ireland  that  none 
who  had  any  blemish  of  body  could  sit 
upon  the  throne ;  and  as  a  grey  hawk  was 
a  wild  thing  of  the  air  which  had  never  sat 
at  the  board,  or  listened  to  the  songs  of 
the  poets,  it  was  not  possible  to  think  of 
one  in  whose  hair  its  feathers  grew  as  other 
than  marred  and  blasted ;  nor  could  the 
people  separate  from  their  admiration  of 
the  wisdom  that  grew  in  him  a  horror  as 
at  one  of  unhuman  blood.  Yet  all  were 
resolved  that  he  should  reign,  for  they  had 
suffered  much  from  foolish  kings  and  their 


THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  KING      117 

own  disorders,  and  moreover  they  desired 
to  watch  out  the  spectacle  of  his  days ; 
and  no  one  had  any  other  fear  but  that  his 
great  wisdom  might  bid  him  obey  the  law, 
and  call  some  other,  who  had  but  a  com- 
mon mind,  to  reign  in  his  stead. 

When  the  child  was  seven  years  old  the 
poets  and  the  men  of  law  were  called  to- 
gether by  the  chief  poet,  and  all  these 
matters  weighed  and  considered.  The 
child  had  already  seen  that  those  about 
him  had  hair  only,  and,  though  they  had 
told  him  that  they  too  had  had  feathers 
but  had  lost  them  because  of  a  sin  com- 
mitted by  their  forefathers,  they  knew 
that  he  would  learn  the  truth  when  he 
began  to  wander  into  the  country  round 
about.  After  much  consideration  they 
made  a  new  law  commanding  everyone 
upon  pain  of  death  to  mingle  artificially  the 
feathers  of  the  grey  hawk  into  his  hair; 
and  they  sent  men  with  nets  and  shngs 
and  bows  into  the  countries  round  about 
to  gather  a  sufficiency  of  feathers.  They 
decreed  also  that  any  who  told  the 
truth  to  the  child  should  be  flung  from  a 
cliff  into  the  sea. 


118  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

The  years  passed,  and  the  child  grew 
from  childhood  into  boyhood  and  from 
boyhood  into  manhood,  and  from  being 
curious  about  all  things  he  became  busy 
with  strange  and  subtle  thoughts  which 
came  to  him  in  dreams,  and  with  distinc- 
tions between  things  long  held  the  same 
and  with  the  resemblance  of  things  long 
held  different.  Multitudes  came  from 
other  lands  to  see  him  and  to  ask  his 
counsel,  but  there  were  guards  set  at  the 
frontiers,  who  compelled  all  that  came  to 
wear  the  feathers  of  the  grey  hawk  in 
their  hair.  While  they  listened  to  him 
his  words  seemed  to  make  all  darkness 
light  and  filled  their  hearts  like  music ; 
but  when  they  returned  to  their  own  lands 
his  words  seemed  far  off,  and  what  they 
could  remember  too  strange  and  subtle 
to  help  them  in  their  lives.  A  number 
indeed  did  live  differently  afterwards,  but 
their  new  life  was  less  excellent  than  the 
old :  some  among  them  had  long  served  a 
good  cause,  but  when  they  heard  him  praise 
it,  they  returned  to  their  own  lands  to 
find  what  they  had  loved  less  lovable,  for 


THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  KING       119 

he  had  taught  them  how  Httle  a  hair 
divides  the  false  and  true;  others,  again, 
who  had  served  no  cause,  but  built  up  in 
peace  the  welfare  of  their  own  households, 
found  their  bones  softer  and  their  will  less 
ready  for  toil,  for  he  had  shown  them 
greater  purposes;  and  numbers  of  the 
young,  when  they  had  heard  him  upon 
all  these  things,  remembered  certain 
strange  words  that  made  all  kindly  joys 
and  traffic  between  man  and  man  as 
nothing,  and  went  different  ways,  but  all 
into  vague  regret. 

When  any  asked  him  about  the  common 
things  of  life ;  disputes  about  the  mearing 
of  a  territory,  or  about  the  straying  of 
cattle,  or  about  the  penalty  of  blood ;  he 
would  turn  to  those  nearest  him  for  ad- 
vice ;  but  this  was  held  to  be  from  courtesy, 
for  none  knew  that  these  matters  were 
hidden  from  him  by  thoughts  and  dreams 
that  filled  his  mind  like  the  marching  and 
counter-marching  of  armies.  Far  less 
could  any  know  that  his  heart  wandered 
lost  amid  throngs  of  overcoming  thoughts 
and  dreams,  shuddering  at  its  own  solitude. 


120  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

Among  those  who  came  to  look  at  him 
and  to  Hsten  to  him  was  the  daughter  of 
a  Uttle  king  who  hved  a  great  way  ofif ; 
and  when  he  saw  her  he  loved,  for  she  was 
beautiful,  with  a  beauty  unlike  the  women 
of  his  land ;  but  Dana,  the  great  mother, 
had  decreed  her  a  heart  that  was  but  as 
the  heart  of  others,  and  when  she  thought 
of  the  mystery  of  the  hawk  feathers  she 
was  afraid.  He  called  her  to  him  when  the 
assembly  was  over  and  told  her  of  her 
beauty,  and  praised  her  simply  and 
frankly;  and  humbly  asked  her  to  give 
him  her  love,  for  he  was  only  subtle  in  his 
dreams.  Overwhelmed  with  his  greatness, 
she  half  consented,  and  yet  half  refused, 
for  she  longed  to  marry  some  man  who 
could  carry  her  over  a  mountain  in  his 
arms.  Day  by  day  the  king  gave  her 
gifts ;  gold  enamelled  cups  and  cloths 
the  merchants  had  carried  from  India  or 
maybe  from  China  itself ;  and  still  she 
was  ever  between  a  smile  and  a  frown ; 
between  yielding  and  withholding.  He 
laid  down  his  wisdom  at  her  feet,  and  told 
how  the  heroes  when  they  die  return  to  the 


THE  WISDOM  OF   THE  KING      121 

world  and  begin  their  labour  anew ;  and  a 
multitude  of  things  that  even  the  Sidhe 
have  forgotten,  either  because  they  hap- 
pened so  long  ago  or  because  the  Sidhe  have 
not  time  to  think  of  them;  and  still  she 
half  refused,  and  still  he  hoped,  because  he 
could  not  believe  that  a  beauty  so  much 
like  wisdom  could  hide  a  common  heart. 

There  was  a  tall  young  man  in  the  house 
who  had  yellow  hair,  and  was  skilled  in 
wrestling ;  and  one  day  when  the  king 
walked  in  the  orchard,  which  was  between 
the  foss  and  the  forest,  he  heard  his  voice 
among  the  salley  bushes  which  hid  the 
waters  of  the  foss.  'My  dear,'  it  said,  'I 
hate  them  for  making  you  weave  these 
dingy  feathers  into  your  beautiful  hair, 
and  all  that  the  bird  of  prey  upon  the 
throne  may  sleep  easy  o'  nights' ;  and  then 
the  low,  musical  voice  he  loved  answered : 
*  My  hair  is  not  beautiful  like  yours ;  and 
now  that  I  have  plucked  the  feathers  out 
of  your  hair  I  will  put  my  hands  through 
it,  thus,  and  thus,  and  thus ;  for  it  does  not 
make  me  afraid.'  Then  the  king  remem- 
bered many  things  that  he  had  forgotten 


122  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

without  understanding  them,  doubtful 
words  of  his  poets  and  his  men  of  law, 
doubts  that  he  had  reasoned  away ;  and 
he  called  to  the  lovers  in  a  trembling  voice. 
They  came  from  among  the  salley  bushes 
and  threw  themselves  at  his  feet  and  prayed 
for  pardon,  and  he  stooped  down  and 
plucked  the  feathers  out  of  the  hair  of  the 
woman  and  turned  away  without  a  word. 
He  went  to  the  hall  of  assembly,  and 
having  gathered  his  poets  and  his  men  of 
law  about  him,  stood  upon  the  dais  and 
spoke  in  a  loud,  clear  voice :  'Men  of  law, 
why  did  you  make  me  sin  against  the 
laws  ?  Men  of  verse,  why  did  you  make 
me  sin  against  the  secrecy  of  wisdom,  for 
law  was  made  by  man  for  the  welfare  of 
man,  but  wisdom  the  gods  have  made, 
and  no  man  shall  live  by  its  light,  for  it 
and  the  hail  and  the  rain  and  the  thunder 
follow  a  way  that  is  deadly  to  mortal 
things?  Men  of  law  and  men  of  verse, 
live  according  to  your  kind,  and  call  Eocha 
of  the  Hasty  Mind  to  reign  over  you,  for  I 
set  out  to  find  my  kindred.'  He  then  came 
down  among  them,  and  drew  out  of  the  hair 


THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  KING      123 

of  first  one  and  then  another  the  feathers 
of  the  grey  hawk,  and,  having  scattered 
them  over  the  rushes  upon  the  floor, 
passed  out,  and  none  dared  to  follow  him, 
for  his  eyes  gleamed  hke  the  eyes  of  the 
birds  of  prey ;  and  no  man  saw  him  again 
or  heard  his  voice.  Some  believed  that  he 
found  his  eternal  abode  among  the  demons, 
and  some  that  he  dwelt  henceforth  with 
the  dark  and  dreadful  goddesses,  who  sit 
all  night  about  the  pools  in  the  forest 
watching  the  constellations  rising  and 
setting  in  those  desolate  mirrors. 


THE   HEART   OF  THE   SPRING 

A  VERY  old  man,  whose  face  was  almost 
as  fleshless  as  the  foot  of  a  bird,  sat  meditat- 
ing upon  the  rocky  shore  of  the  fiat  and 
hazel-covered  isle  which  fills  the  widest 
part  of  Lough  Gill.  A  russet-faced  boy  of 
seventeen  years  sat  by  his  side,  watching 
the  swallows  dipping  for  flies  in  the  still 
water.  The  old  man  was  dressed  in 
threadbare  blue  velvet  and  the  boy  wore  a 
frieze  coat  and  had  a  rosary  about  his 
neck.  Behind  the  two,  and  half  hidden 
by  trees,  was  a  little  monastery.  It  had 
been  burned  down  a  long  while  before 
by  sacrilegious  men  of  the  Queen's  party, 
but  had  been  roofed  anew  with  rushes  by 
the  boy,  that  the  old  man  might  find  shelter 
in  his  last  days.  He  had  not  set  his  spade, 
however,  into  the  garden  about  it,  and  the 
lilies  and  the  roses  of  the  monks  had  spread 
out  until  their  confused  luxuriance  met  and 

124 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  SPRING      125 

mingled  with  the  narrowing  circle  of  the 
fern.  Beyond  the  lilies  and  the  roses  the 
ferns  were  so  deep  that  a  child  walking 
among  them  would  be  hidden  from  sight, 
even  though  he  stood  upon  his  toes ;  and 
beyond  the  fern  rose  many  hazels  and  small 
oak  trees. 

'Master,'  said  the  boy,  'this  long  fasting, 
and  the  labour  of  beckoning  after  nightfall 
to  the  beings  who  dwell  in  the  waters  and 
among  the  hazels  and  oak-trees,  is  too 
much  for  your  strength.  Rest  from  all 
this  labour  for  a  little  to-day  for  your  hand 
seemed  more  heavy  upon  my  shoulder  and 
your  feet  less  steady  than  I  have  known 
them.  Men  say  that  you  are  older  than 
the  eagles,  and  yet  you  will  not  seek 
the  rest  that  belongs  to  age.'  He  spoke 
eagerly,  as  though  his  heart  were  in  the 
words;  and  the  old  man  answered  slowly 
and  deliberately,  as  though  his  heart  were 
in  distant  days  and  events. 

'  I  will  tell  you  why  I  have  not  been  able 
to  rest,'  he  said.  'It  is  right  that  you 
should  know,  for  you  have  served  me  faith- 
fully these  five  years,  and  even  with  affec- 


126  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

tion,  taking  away  thereby  a  little  of  the 
doom  of  loneliness  which  always  falls  upon 
the  wise.  Now,  too,  that  the  end  of  my 
labour  and  the  triumph  of  my  hopes  is  at 
hand,  it  is  the  more  needful  for  you  to  have 
this  knowledge.' 

'Master,  do  not  think  that  I  would 
question  you.  It  is  for  me  to  keep  the  fire 
alight,  and  the  thatch  close  that  the  rain 
may  not  come  in,  and  strong,  that  the 
wind  may  not  blow  it  among  the  trees; 
and  to  take  down  the  heavy  books  from 
the  shelves,  possessing  the  while  an  incuri- 
ous and  reverent  heart,  for  God  has  made 
out  of  His  abundance  a  separate  wisdom 
for  everything  which  lives,  and  to  do  these 
things  is  my  wisdom.' 

'You  are  afraid,'  said  the  old  man,  and 
his  eyes  shone  with  a  momentary  anger. 

'Sometimes  at  night,'  said  the  boy, 
'when  you  are  reading,  with  the  rod  of 
quicken  wood  in  your  hand,  I  look  out  of 
the  door  and  see,  now  a  great  grey  man 
driving  swine  among  the  hazels,  and  now 
many  little  people  in  red  caps  who  come 
out  of  the  lake  driving  little  white  cows 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  SPRING      127 

before  them.  I  do  not  fear  these  little 
people  so  much  as  the  grey  man ;  for,  when 
they  come  near  the  house,  they  milk  the 
cows,  and  they  drink  the  frothing  milk, 
and  begin  to  dance ;  and  I  know  there  is 
good  in  the  heart  that  loves  dancing ;  but 
I  fear  them  for  all  that.  And  I  fear  the  tall 
white-armed  ladies  who  come  out  of  the 
air,  and  move  slowly  hither  and  thither, 
crowning  themselves  with  the  roses  or  with 
the  lilies,  and  shaking  about  them  their 
living  hair,  which  moves,  for  so  I  have 
heard  them  tell  each  other,  with  the  motion 
of  their  thoughts,  now  spreading  out  and 
now  gathering  close  to  their  heads.  They 
have  mild,  beautiful  faces,  Aengus,  son  of 
Forbis,  but  I  am  afraid  of  the  Sidhe,  and 
afraid  of  the  art  which  draws  them  about 
us.' 

'Why,'  said  the  old  man,  'do  you  fear  the 
ancient  gods  who  made  the  spears  of  your 
father's  fathers  to  be  stout  in  battle,  and 
the  little  people  who  came  at  night  from 
the  depth  of  the  lakes  and  sang  among  the 
crickets  upon  their  hearths?  And  in  our 
evil  day  they  still  watch  over  the  loveliness 


128  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

of  the  earth.  But  I  must  tell  you  why  I 
have  fasted  and  laboured  when  others 
would  sink  into  the  sleep  of  age,  for  with- 
out your  help  once  more  I  shall  have  fasted 
and  laboured  to  no  good  end.  When  you 
have  done  for  me  this  last  thing,  you  may 
go  and  build  your  cottage  and  till  your 
fields,  and  take  some  girl  to  wife,  and  forget 
the  ancient  gods.  I  have  saved  all  the 
gold  and  silver  pieces  that  were  given  to  me 
by  earls  and  knights  and  squires  for  keeping 
them  from  the  evil  eye  and  from  the  love- 
weaving  enchantments  of  witches,  and  by 
earls'  and  knights'  and  squires'  ladies  for 
keeping  the  people  of  the  Sidhe  from  mak- 
ing the  udders  of  their  cattle  fall  dry,  and 
taking  the  butter  from  their  churns.  I 
have  saved  it  all  for  the  day  when  my  work 
should  be  at  an  end,  and  now  that  the  end 
is  at  hand  you  shall  not  lack  for  money  to 
make  strong  the  roof-tree  of  your  cottage 
and  to  keep  cellar  and  larder  full.  I  have 
sought  through  all  my  life  to  find  the  secret 
of  life.  I  was  not  happy  in  my  youth,  for 
I  knew  that  it  would  pass ;  and  I  was  not 
happy  in  my  manhood^  for  I  knew  that  age 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  SPRING      129 

was  coming;  and  so  I  gave  myself,  in 
youth  and  manhood  and  age,  to  the  search 
for  the  Great  Secret.  I  longed  for  a  life 
whose  abundance  would  fill  centuries,  I 
scorned  the  life  of  fourscore  winters.  I 
would  be  —  no,  I  will  be  !  —  like  the 
Ancient  Gods  of  the  land.  I  read  in  my 
youth,  in  a  Hebrew  manuscript  I  found  in  a 
Spanish  monastery,  that  there  is  a  moment 
after  the  Sun  has  entered  the  Ram  and 
before  he  has  passed  the  Lion,  which  trem- 
bles with  the  Song  of  the  Immortal  Powers, 
and  that  whosoever  finds  this  moment  and 
listens  to  the  Song  shall  become  like  the 
Immortal  Powers  themselves ;  I  came  back 
to  Ireland  and  asked  the  fairy  men,  and 
the  cow-doctors,  if  they  knew  when  this 
moment  was ;  but  though  all  had  heard  of 
it,  there  was  none  could  find  the  moment 
upon  the  hour-glass.  So  I  gave  myself  to 
magic,  and  spent  my  life  in  fasting  and  in 
labour  that  I  might  bring  the  Gods  and 
the  Men  of  Faery  to  my  side ;  and  now  at 
last  one  of  the  Men  of  Faery  has  told  me 
that  the  moment  is  at  hand.  One,  who 
wore  a  red  cap  and  whose  lips  were  white 


130  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

with  the  froth  of  the  new  milk,  whispered 
it  into  my  ear.  To-morrow,  a  Httle  before 
the  close  of  the  first  hour  after  dawn,  I 
shall  find  the  moment,  and  then  I  will  go 
away  to  a  southern  land  and  build  myself  a 
palace  of  white  marble  amid  orange  trees, 
and  gather  the  brave  and  the  beautiful 
about  me,  and  enter  into  the  eternal  king- 
dom of  my  youth.  But,  that  I  may  hear 
the  whole  Song,  I  was  told  by  the  little 
fellow  with  the  froth  of  the  new  milk  on 
his  lips,  that  you  must  bring  great  masses 
of  green  boughs  and  pile  them  about  the 
door  and  the  window  of  my  room ;  and 
you  must  put  fresh  green  rushes  upon  the 
floor,  and  cover  the  table  and  the  rushes 
with  the  roses  and  the  lilies  of  the  monks. 
You  must  do  this  to-night,  and  in  the 
morning  at  the  end  of  the  first  hour  after 
dawn,  you  must  come  and  find  me.' 

'Will  you  be  quite  young  then?'  said 
the  boy. 

*I  will  be  as  young  then  as  you  are,  but 
now  I  am  still  old  and  tired,  and  you  must 
help  me  to  my  chair  and  to  my  books.' 

When  the  boy  had  left  Aengus  son  of 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  SPRING      131 

Forbis  in  his  room,  and  had  Hghted  the 
lamp  which,  by  some  contrivance  of  the 
wizard's,  gave  forth  a  sweet  odour  as  of 
strange  flowers,  he  went  into  the  wood  and 
began  cutting  green  boughs  from  the  hazels, 
and  great  bundles  of  rushes  from  the  west- 
ern border  of  the  isle,  where  the  small  rocks 
gave  place  to  gently  sloping  sand  and  clay. 
It  was  nightfall  before  he  had  cut  enough 
for  his  purpose,  and  well-nigh  midnight 
before  he  had  carried  the  last  bundle  to  its 
place,  and  gone  back  for  the  roses  and  the 
lilies.  It  was  one  of  those  warm,  beautiful 
nights  when  everything  seems  carved  of- 
precious  stones.  Sleuth  Wood  away  to 
the  south  looked  as  though  cut  out  of  green 
beryl,  and  the  waters  that  mirrored  it 
shone  like  pale  opal.  The  roses  he  was 
gathering  were  like  glowing  rubies,  and  the 
Ulies  had  the  dull  lustre  of  pearl.  Every- 
thing had  taken  upon  itself  the  look  of 
something  imperishable,  except  a  glow- 
worm, whose  faint  flame  burnt  on  steadily 
among  the  shadows,  moving  slowly  hither 
and  thither,  the  only  thing  that  seemed 
aHve,  the  only  thing  that  seemed  perish- 


132  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

able  as  mortal  hope.  The  boy  gathered  a 
great  armful  of  roses  and  lilies,  and  thrust- 
ing the  glow-worm  among  their  pearl  and 
ruby,  carried  them  into  the  room,  where  the 
old  man  sat  in  a  half-slumber.  He  laid 
armful  after  armful  upon  the  floor  and 
above  the  table,  and  then,  gently  closing 
the  door,  threw  himself  upon  his  bed  of 
rushes,  to  dream  of  a  peaceful  manhood 
with  a  desirable  wife,  and  laughing  children. 
At  dawn  he  got  up,  and  went  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  lake,  taking  the  hour-glass  with 
him.  He  put  some  bread  and  wine  into 
the  boat,  that  his  master  might  not  lack 
food  at  the  outset  of  his  journey,  and  then 
sat  down  to  wait  until  the  hour  from  dawn 
had  gone  by.  Gradually  the  birds  began 
to  sing,  and  when  the  last  grains  of  sand 
were  falling,  everything  suddenly  seemed 
to  overflow  with  their  music.  It  was  the 
most  beautiful  and  living  moment  of  the 
year;  one  could  listen  to  the  spring's 
heart  beating  in  it.  He  got  up  and  went 
to  find  his  master.  The  green  boughs 
filled  the  door,  and  he  had  to  make  a  way 
through  them.    When  he  entered  the  room 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  SPRING      133 

the  sunlight  was  falling  in  flickering  circles 
on  floor  and  walls  and  table,  and  every- 
thing was  full  of  soft  green  shadows.  But 
the  old  man  sat  clasping  a  mass  of  roses  and 
lilies  in  his  arms,  and  with  his  head  sunk 
upon  his  breast.  On  the  table,  at  his  left 
hand,  was  a  leather  wallet  full  of  gold  and 
silver  pieces,  as  for  a  journey,  and  at  his 
right  hand  was  a  long  staff.  The  boy 
touched  him  and  he  did  not  move.  He 
lifted  the  hands  but  they  were  quite  cold, 
and  they  fell  heavily. 

'It  were  better  for  him,'  said  the  lad, '  to 
have  said  his  prayers  and  kissed  his  beads  ! ' 
He  looked  at  the  threadbare  blue  velvet, 
and  he  saw  it  was  covered  with  the  pollen 
of  the  flowers,  and  while  he  was  looking  at 
it  a  thrush,  who  had  alighted  among  the 
boughs  that  were  piled  against  the  window, 
began  to  sing. 


THE  CURSE  OF  THE  FIRES  AND 
OF  THE  SHADOWS 

One  summer  night,  when  there  was  peace, 
a  score  of  Puritan  troopers  under  the  pious 
Sir  Frederick  Hamilton,  broke  through  the 
door  of  the  Abbey  of  the  White  Friars  at 
Sligo.  As  the  door  fell  with  a  crash  they 
saw  a  little  knot  of  friars  gathered  about 
the  altar,  their  white  habits  ghmmering  in 
the  steady  light  of  the  holy  candles.  All 
the  monks  were  kneehng  except  the  abbot, 
who  stood  upon  the  altar  steps  with  a 
great  brass  crucifix  in  his  hand.  'Shoot 
them ! '  cried  Sir  Frederick  Hamilton,  but 
nobody  stirred,  for  all  were  new  converts, 
and  feared  the  candles  and  the  crucij&x. 
The  white  lights  from  the  altar  threw  the 
shadows  of  the  troopers  up  on  to  roof  and 
wall.  As  the  troopers  moved  about,  the 
shadows  began  to  dance  among  the  corbels 
and  the  memorial  tablets.  For  a  little 
134 


CURSE  OF  FIRES  AND  SHADOWS    135 

while  all  was  silent,  and  then  five  troopers 
who  were  the  body-guard  of  Sir  Frederick 
Hamilton  lifted  their  muskets,  and  shot 
down  five  of  the  friars.  The  noise  and  the 
smoke  drove  away  the  mystery  of  the  pale 
altar  fights,  and  the  other  troopers  took 
courage  and  began  to  strike.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  friars  lay  about  the  altar  steps, 
their  white  habits  stained  with  blood. 
'  Set  fire  to  the  house  ! '  cried  Sir  Frederick 
Hamilton,  and  a  trooper  carried  in  a  heap 
of  dry  straw,  and  piled  it  against  the  west- 
ern wall,  but  did  not  fight  it,  because  he 
was  still  afraid  of  crucifix  and  of  candles. 
Seeing  this,  the  five  troopers  who  were  Sir 
Frederick  Hamilton's  body-guard  went 
up  to  the  altar,  and  taking  each  a  holy 
candle  set  the  straw  in  a  blaze.  The  red 
tongues  of  fire  rushed  up  towards  the  roof, 
and  crept  along  the  floor,  setting  in  a  blaze 
the  seats  and  benches.  The  dance  of  the 
shadows  passed  away,  and  the  dance  of  the 
fires  began.  The  troopers  fell  back  tow- 
ards the  door  in  the  southern  wall,  and 
watched  those  yellow  dancers  springing 
hither  and  thither. 


136  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

For  a  time  the  altar  stood  safe  and  apart 
in  the  midst  of  its  white  Hght ;  the  eyes  of 
the  troopers  turned  upon  it.  The  abbot 
whom  they  had  thought  dead  had  risen  to 
his  feet  and  now  stood  before  it  with  the 
crucifix  hfted  in  both  hands  high  above  his 
head.  Suddenly  he  cried  with  a  loud 
voice,  '  Woe  unto  all  who  have  struck  down 
those  who  have  lived  in  the  Light  of  the 
Lord,  for  they  shall  wander  among  shadows, 
and  among  fires  ! '  And  having  so  cried  he 
fell  on  his  face  dead,  and  the  brass  crucifix 
rolled  down  the  steps  of  the  altar.  The 
smoke  had  now  grown  very  thick,  so  that  it 
drove  the  troopers  out  into  the  open  air. 
Before  them  were  burning  houses.  Behind 
them  shone  the  Abbey  windows  filled  with 
saints  and  martyrs,  awakened,  as  from  a  sa- 
cred trance,  into  an  angry  and  animated  life. 
The  eyes  of  the  troopers  were  dazzled,  and 
for  a  while  could  see  nothing  but  the  flam- 
ing faces  of  saints  and  martyrs.  Presently, 
however,  they  saw  a  man  covered  with  dust 
who  came  running  towards  them.  'Two 
messengers,'  he  cried,  'have  been  sent  by 
the  defeated  Irish  to  raise  against  you  the 


CURSE  OF  FIRES  AND  SHADOWS    137 

whole  country  about  Manor  Hamilton, 
and  if  you  do  not  stop  them  you  will  be 
overpowered  in  the  woods  before  you  reach 
home  again  !  They  ride  north-east  be- 
tween Ben  Bulben  and  Cashel-na-Gael.' 

Sir  Frederick  Hamilton  called  to  him  the 
five  troopers  who  had  first  fired  upon  the 
monks  and  said,  'Mount  quickly,  and  ride 
through  the  woods  towards  the  mountain, 
and  get  before  these  men,  and  kill  them.' 

In  a  moment  the  troopers  were  gone, 
and  before  many  moments  they  had 
splashed  across  the  river  at  what  is  now 
called  Buckley's  Ford,  and  plunged  into 
the  woods.  They  followed  a  beaten  track 
that  wound  along  the  northern  bank  of  the 
river.  The  boughs  of  the  birch  and 
quicken  trees  mingled  above,  and  hid  the 
cloudy  moonlight,  leaving  the  pathway  in 
almost  complete  darkness.  They  rode  at  a 
rapid  trot,  now  chatting  together,  now 
watching  some  stray  weasel  or  rabbit 
scuttling  away  in  the  darkness.  Gradu- 
ally, as  the  gloom  and  silence  of  the  woods 
oppressed  them,  they  drew  closer  together, 
and  began  to  talk  rapidly ;   they  were  old 


138  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

comrades  and  knew  each  other's  lives. 
One  was  married,  and  told  how  glad  his 
wife  would  be  to  see  him  return  safe  from 
this  harebrained  expedition  against  the 
White  Friars,  and  to  hear  how  fortune  had 
made  amends  for  rashness.  The  oldest 
of  the  five,  whose  wife  was  dead,  spoke  of  a 
flagon  of  wine  which  awaited  him  upon  an 
upper  shelf;  while  a  third,  who  was  the 
youngest,  had  a  sweetheart  watching  for 
his  return,  and  he  rode  a  little  way  before 
the  others,  not  talking  at  all.  Suddenly 
the  young  man  stopped,  and  they  saw  that 
his  horse  was  trembling.  'I  saw  some- 
thing,' he  said,  'and  yet  I  do  not  know  but 
it  may  have  been  one  of  the  shadows.  It 
looked  like  a  great  worm  with  a  silver 
crown  upon  his  head.'  One  of  the  five 
put  his  hand  up  to  his  forehead  as  if  about 
to  cross  himself,  but  remembering  that  he 
had  changed  his  religion  he  put  it  down, 
and  said  : '  I  am  certain  it  was  but  a  shadow, 
for  there  are  a  great  many  about  us,  and  of 
very  strange  kinds.'  Then  they  rode  on  in 
silence.  It  had  been  raining  in  the  earlier 
part  of  the  day,  and  the  drops  fell  from 


CURSE  OF  FIRES  AND  SHADOWS    139 

the  branches,  wetting  their  hair  and  their 
shoulders.  In  a  httle  they  began  to  talk 
again.  They  had  been  in  many  battles 
against  many  a  rebel  together,  and  now 
told  each  other  over  again  the  story  of  their 
wounds,  and  so  awakened  in  their  hearts 
the  strongest  of  all  fellowships,  the  fellow- 
ship of  the  sword,  and  half  forgot  the 
terrible  solitude  of  the  woods. 

Suddenly  the  first  two  horses  neighed, 
and  then  stood  still,  and  would  go  no 
further.  Before  them  was  a  glint  of  water, 
and  they  knew  by  the  rushing  sound  that 
it  was  a  river.  They  dismounted,  and 
after  much  tugging  and  coaxing  brought 
the  horses  to  the  river-side.  In  the  midst 
of  the  water  stood  a  tall  old  woman  with 
grey  hair  flowing  over  a  grey  dress.  She 
stood  up  to  her  knees  in  the  water,  and 
stooped  from  time  to  time  as  though 
washing.  Presently  they  could  see  that 
she  was  washing  something  that  half 
floated.  The  moon  cast  a  flickering  light 
upon  it,  and  they  saw  that  it  was  the  dead 
body  of  a  man,  and,  while  they  were  look- 
ing at  it,  an  eddy  of  the  river  turned  the 


140  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

face  towards  them,  and  each  of  the  five 
troopers  recognised  at  the  same  moment 
his  own  face.  While  they  stood  dumb 
and  motionless  with  horror,  the  woman 
began  to  speak,  saying  slowly  and  loudly : 
'Did  you  see  my  son?  He  has  upon 
his  head  a  crown  of  silver.'  Then  the 
oldest  of  the  troopers,  he  who  had  been 
most  often  wounded,  drew  his  sword  and 
said :  '  I  have  fought  for  the  truth  of  my 
God,  and  need  not  fear  the  shadows  of 
Satan,'  and  with  that  rushed  into  the 
water.  In  a  moment  he  returned.  The 
woman  had  vanished,  and  though  he  had 
thrust  his  sword  into  air  and  water  he  had 
found  nothing. 

The  five  troopers  remounted,  and  set 
their  horses  at  the  ford,  but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose. They  tried  again  and  again,  and 
went  plunging  hither  and  thither,  the 
horses  foaming  and  rearing.  'Let  us,' 
said  the  old  trooper,  'ride  back  a  little  into 
the  wood,  and  strike  the  river  higher  up.' 
They  rode  in  under  the  boughs,  the  ground- 
ivy  crackling  under  the  hoofs,  and  the 
branches  striking  against  their  steel  caps. 


CVRSE  OF  FIRES  AND  SHADOWS    141 

After  about  twenty  minutes'  riding  they 
came  out  again  upon  the  river,  and  after 
another  ten  minutes  found  a  place  where  it 
was  possible  to  cross  without  sinking  below 
the  stirrups.  The  wood  upon  the  other 
side  was  very  thin,  and  broke  the  moon- 
light into  long  streams.  The  wind  had 
arisen,  and  had  begun  to  drive  the  clouds 
rapidly  across  the  face  of  the  moon,  so  that 
thin  streams  of  light  were  dancing  among 
scattered  bushes  and  small  fir-trees.  The 
tops  of  the  trees  began  also  to  moan,  and 
the  sound  of  it  was  like  the  voice  of  the 
dead  in  the  wind ;  and  the  troopers  remem- 
bered that  the  dead  in  purgatory  are  said 
to  be  spitted  upon  the  points  of  the  trees 
and  upon  the  points  of  the  rocks.  They 
turned  a  little  to  the  south,  in  the  hope 
that  they  might  strike  the  beaten  path 
again,  but  they  could  find  no  trace  of  it. 
Meanwhile,  the  moaning  grew  louder  and 
louder,  and  the  dancing  of  the  moonlight 
seemed  more  and  more  rapid.  Gradually 
they  began  to  be  aware  of  a  sound  of  dis- 
tant music.  It  was  the  sound  of  a  bagpipe, 
and  they  rode  towards  it  with  great  joy. 


142  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

It  came  from  the  bottom  of  a  deep,  cup- 
like hollow.  In  the  midst  of  the  hollow 
was  an  old  man  with  a  red  cap  and  withered 
face.  He  sat  beside  a  fire  of  sticks,  and  had 
a  burning  torch  thrust  into  the  earth  at  his 
feet,  and  played  an  old  bagpipe  furiously. 
His  red  hair  dripped  over  his  face  like  the 
iron  rust  upon  a  rock.  'Did  you  see  my 
wife  ? '  he  said,  looking  up  a  moment ; 
'  she  was  washing  !  she  was  washing ! ' 
'1  am  afraid  of  him,'  said  the  young 
trooper,  'I  fear  he  is  not  a  right  man.' 
'No,'  said  the  old  trooper,  'he  is  a  man  like 
ourselves,  for  I  can  see  the  sun-freckles 
upon  his  face.  We  will  compel  him  to  be 
our  guide ' ;  and  at  that  he  drew  his 
sword,  and  the  others  did  the  same.  They 
stood  in  a  ring  round  the  piper,  and  pointed 
their  swords  at  him,  and  the  old  trooper 
then  told  him  that  they  must  kill  two 
rebels,  who  had  taken  the  road  between 
Ben  Bulben  and  the  great  mountain  spur 
that  is  called  Cashel-na-Gael,  and  that  he 
must  get  up  on  the  horse  before  one  of 
them  and  be  their  guide,  for  they  had  lost 
their  way.     The  piper  pointed  to  a  neigh- 


CURSE  OF  FIRES  AND  SHADOWS    143 

bouring  tree,  and  they  saw  an  old  white 
horse  ready  bitted,  bridled,  and  saddled. 
He  slung  the  pipe  across  his  back,  and, 
taking  the  torch  in  his  hand,  got  upon  the 
horse,  and  started  off  before  them,  as  hard 
as  he  could  go. 

The  wood  grew  thinner  now,  and  the 
ground  began  to  slope  up  toward  the 
mountain.  The  moon  had  already  set,  but 
the  stars  shone  brightly  between  the  clouds. 
The  ground  sloped  more  and  more  until  at 
last  they  rode  far  above  the  woods  upon 
the  wide  top  of  the  mountain.  The  woods 
lay  spread  out  mile  after  mile  below,  and 
away  to  the  south  shot  up  the  red  glare  of 
the  burning  town.  The  guide  drew  rein 
suddenly,  and  pointing  upwards  with  the 
hand  that  did  not  hold  the  torch,  shrieked 
out,  '  Look ;  look  at  the  holy  candles  ! ' 
and  then  plunged  forward  at  a  gallop, 
waving  the  torch  hither  and  thither.  'Do 
you  hear  the  hoofs  of  the  messengers?' 
cried  the  guide.  '  Quick,  quick  !  or  they 
will  be  gone  out  of  your  hands ! '  and  he 
laughed  as  with  delight  of  the  chase.  The 
troopers  thought  they  could  hear  far  off, 


144  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

and  as  if  below  them,  rattle  of  hoofs; 
but  now  the  ground  began  to  slope  more 
and  more,  and  the  speed  grew  more  head- 
long moment  by  moment.  They  tried  to 
pull  up,  but  they  could  not,  for  the  horses 
seemed  to  have  gone  mad.  The  guide 
had  thrown  the  reins  on  to  the  neck  of  the 
old  white  horse,  and  was  waving  his  arms 
and  singing  in  Gaelic.  Suddenly  they 
saw  the  thin  gleam  of  a  river,  at  an  im- 
mense distance  below,  and  knew  that  they 
were  upon  the  brink  of  the  abyss  that  is 
now  called  Lug-na-Gael,  or  in  English  the 
Stranger's  Leap.  The  six  horses  sprang 
forward,  and  five  screams  went  up  into 
the  air,  a  moment  later  five  men  and  horses 
fell  with  a  dull  crash  upon  the  green  slopes 
at  the  foot  of  the  rocks. 


THE  OLD  MEN  OF  THE  TWILIGHT 

At  the  place,  close  to  the  Dead  Man's 
Point,  at  the  Rosses,  where  the  disused 
pilot-house  looks  out  to  sea  through  two 
round  windows  like  eyes,  a  mud  cottage 
stood  in  the  last  century.  It  also  was  a 
watchhouse,  for  a  certain  old  Michael 
Bruen,  who  had  been  a  smuggler,  and  was 
still  the  father  and  grandfather  of  smug- 
glers, lived  there,  and  when,  after  nightfall, 
a  tall  French  schooner  crept  over  the  bay 
from  Roughley,  it  was  his  business  to  hang 
a  horn  lanthorn  in  the  southern  window, 
that  the  news  might  travel  to  Dorren's 
Island,  and  from  thence,  by  another  horn 
lanthorn,  to  the  village  of  the  Rosses. 
But  for  this  glimmering  of  messages,  he 
had  little  business  with  mankind,  for  he 
was  very  old,  and  had  no  thought  for  any- 
thing but  for  the  making  of  his  soul,  bent 
double  over  his  Spanish  beads.     One  night 

L  145 


146  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

he  had  watched  hour  after  hour,  be- 
cause a  gentle  and  favourable  wind  was 
blowing,  and  La  Mere  de  Misericorde  was 
much  overdue;  and  he  was  about  to  lie 
down  upon  his  heap  of  straw,  because  the 
dawn  was  whitening  the  east,  and  he  knew 
that  she  would  not  dare  to  round  Roughley 
and  come  to  an  anchor  after  daybreak ; 
when  he  saw  a  long  line  of  herons  flying 
slowly  from  Dorren's  Island  and  towards 
the  pools  which  lie,  half  choked  with  reeds, 
behind  what  is  called  the  Second  Rosses. 
He  had  never  before  seen  herons  flying  over 
the  sea,  for  they  are  shore-keeping  birds, 
and  partly  because  this  had  startled  him 
out  of  his  drowsiness,  and  more  because  the 
long  delay  of  the  schooner  had  emptied 
his  cupboard,  he  took  down  his  rusty  shot- 
gun, of  which  the  barrel  was  tied  on  with 
a  piece  of  string,  and  followed  the  herons 
towards  the  pools. 

In  a  little  he  came  upon  the  herons,  of 
whom  there  were  a  great  number,  standing 
with  lifted  legs  in  the  shallow  water ;  and 
crouching  down  behind  a  bank  of  rushes, 
looked  to  the  priming  of  his  gun,  and  bent 


THE  OLD  MEN  OF   THE  TWILIGHT     147 

for  a  moment  over  his  rosary  to  murmur : 
'Patron  Patrick,  let  me  shoot  a  heron; 
made  into  a  pie  it  will  support  me  for 
nearly  four  days,  for  I  no  longer  eat  as  in 
my  youth.  If  you  keep  me  from  missing 
I  will  say  a  rosary  to  you  every  night  until 
the  pie  is  eaten.'  Then  he  lay  down,  and, 
resting  his  gun  upon  a  large  stone,  turned 
towards  a  heron  which  stood  upon  a  bank 
of  smooth  grass  over  a  little  stream  that 
flowed  into  the  pool ;  for  he  feared  to  take 
the  rheumatism  by  wading,  as  he  would 
have  to  do  if  he  shot  one  of  those  which 
stood  in  the  water.  But  when  he  looked 
along  the  barrel  the  heron  was  gone,  and, 
to  his  wonder  and  terror,  a  man  of  infinitely 
great  age  and  infirmity  stood  in  its  place. 
He  lowered  the  gun,  and  the  heron  stood 
there  with  bent  head  and  motionless 
feathers,  as  though  it  had  slept  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world.  He  raised  the 
gun,  and  no  sooner  did  he  look  along  the 
iron  than  the  old  man  was  again  before 
him,  only  to  vanish  when  he  lowered  the 
gun  for  the  second  time.  He  laid  the  gun 
down,  and  crossed  himself  three  times,  and 


148  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

said  a  Paternoster  and  an  Ave  Maria,  and 
muttered  half  aloud :  '  Some  enemy  of 
God  and  of  my  patron  is  standing  upon  the 
smooth  place  and  fishing  in  the  blessed 
water/  and  then  aimed  very  carefully  and 
slowly.  He  fired,  and  when  the  smoke  had 
gone  saw  an  old  man,  huddled  upon  the 
grass,  and  a  long  line  of  herons  flying 
towards  the  sea.  He  went  round  a  bend  of 
the  pool,  and  coming  to  the  little  stream 
looked  down  on  a  figure  wrapped  in 
faded  clothes  of  an  ancient  pattern  and 
spotted  with  blood.  He  shook  his  head 
at  the  sight  of  so  great  a  wickedness. 
Suddenly  the  clothes  moved  and  an  arm 
was  stretched  upwards  towards  the 
rosary  which  hung  about  his  neck,  and 
long  wasted  fingers  almost  touched  the 
cross.  He  started  back,  crying  :  'Wizard, 
I  will  let  no  wicked  thing  touch  my  blessed 
beads ' ;  and  the  sense  of  a  great  danger 
just  escaped  made  him  tremble. 

'If  you  listen  to  me,'  rephed  a  voice  so 
faint  that  it  was  like  a  sigh,  'you  will  know 
that  I  am  not  a  wizard,  and  you  will  let  me 
kiss  the  cross  before  I  die.' 


THE  OLD  MEN  OF   THE  TWILIGHT     149 

'I  will  listen  to  you/  he  answered,  'but 
I  will  not  let  you  touch  my  blessed  beads,' 
and  sitting  on  the  grass  a  httle  way  from 
the  dying  man,  he  reloaded  his  gun  and 
laid  it  across  his  knees  and  composed  him- 
self to  listen. 

'I  do  not  know  how  many  generations 
ago  we,  who  are  now  herons,  were  the  men 
of  learning  of  King  Leaghaire ;  we  neither 
hunted,  nor  went  to  battle,  nor  listened  to 
the  Druids  preaching,  and  even  love,  if  it 
came  to  us  at  all,  was  but  a  brief  trivial 
thing.  The  Druids  and  the  poets  told  us, 
many  a  time,  of  a  new  Druid  Patrick ;  and 
most  among  them  were  angry  with  him, 
while  a  few  thought  his  doctrine  merely 
the  doctrine  of  the  gods  set  out  in  new 
symbols,  and  were  for  giving  him  wel- 
come ;  but  we  yawned  when  they  spoke  of 
him.  At  last  they  came  crying  that  he 
was  coming  to  the  king's  house,  and  fell  to 
their  dispute,  but  we  would  listen  to 
neither  party,  for  we  were  busy  with  a 
dispute  about  the  merits  of  the  Great  and 
of  the  Little  Metre ;  nor  were  we  disturbed 
when  they  passed  our  door  with  sticks  of 


150  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

enchantment  under  their  arms,  travelUng 
towards  the  forest  to  drive  him  away, 
nor  when  they  returned  after  nightfall 
with  torn  coats  and  despairing  cries;  for 
the  click  of  our  knives  writing  our  thoughts 
in  Ogham  filled  us  with  peace  and  our 
dispute  filled  us  with  joy;  nor  even  when 
in  the  morning  crowds  passed  us  to  hear 
the  preaching  of  the  new  Druid.  The 
crowds  passed,  and  one,  who  had  laid 
down  his  knife  to  yawn  and  stretch  himself, 
heard  a  voice  speaking  far  off  in  the  king's 
house ;  but  our  hearts  were  deaf,  and  we 
carved  and  disputed  and  read,  and  laughed 
together.  In  a  little  we  heard  many  feet 
coming  towards  the  house,  and  presently 
two  tall  figures  stood  in  the  door,  the  one  in 
white,  the  other  in  a  crimson  coat ;  and 
we  knew  the  Druid  Patrick  and  our  King 
Leaghaire.  We  laid  down  the  slender 
knives  and  bowed  before  the  king,  but 
it  was  not  the  loud  rough  voice  of  King 
Leaghaire  that  spoke  to  us,  but  a  voice 
in  which  there  seemed  to  be  a  strange 
rapture:  ''I  preached  the  commandments 
of  God,"  it  said ;  ''within  the  king's  house 


THE  OLD  MEN  OF  THE  TWILIGHT     151 

and  from  the  centre  of  the  earth  to  the 
windows  of  Heaven  there  was  a  great  si- 
lence, so  that  the  eagle  floated  with  unmov- 
ing  wings,  and  the  fish  with  unmoving  fins, 
while  the  linnets  and  the  wrens  and  the  spar- 
rows stilled  their  ever-trembhng  tongues, 
and  the  clouds  were  like  white  marble, 
and  the  shrimps  in  the  far-off  sea-pools 
became  still,  enduring  eternity  in  patience, 
although  it  was  hard."  And  as  he  named 
these  things,  it  was  like  a  king  numbering 
his  people.  ''But  your  slender  knives 
kept  up  their  clicking,  and,  all  else  being 
silent,  the  sound  is  not  to  be  endured. 
Because  you  have  lived  where  the  feet  of 
angels  cannot  touch  you  as  they  pass  over 
your  heads,  where  the  hair  of  demons 
cannot  sweep  about  you  as  they  pass  under 
your  feet,  I  shall  make  you  an  example  for 
ever  and  ever ;  you  shall  become  grey 
herons  and  stand  pondering  in  grey  pools 
and  fht  over  the  world  in  that  hour  when 
it  is  most  full  of  sighs ;  and  you  shall  preach 
to  the  other  herons  until  they  also  are  hke 
you,  and  are  an  example  for  ever ;  and  your 
deaths  shall  come  to  you  by  chance  and 


152  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

unforeseen,  for  you  shall  not  be  certain 
about  anything  for  ever  and  ever.'" 

The  voice  became  still,  but  the  voteen 
bent  over  his  gun  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground,  too  stupid  to  understand  what  he 
had  heard ;  and  he  had  remained  so,  it  may 
be  for  a  long  time,  had  not  a  tug  at  his 
rosary  made  him  start  out  of  his  puzzled 
dream.  The  old  man  of  learning  had 
crawled  along  the  grass,  and  was  now  trying 
to  draw  the  cross  down  low  enough  for  his 
lips  to  reach  it. 

'You  must  not  touch  my  blessed  beads/ 
cried  the  voteen,  and  struck  the  long 
withered  fingers  with  the  barrel  of  his  gun. 
He  need  not  have  trembled,  for  the  old 
man  fell  back  upon  the  grass  with  a  sigh 
and  was  quiet.  He  bent  down  and  began 
to  consider  the  discoloured  clothes,  for 
his  fear  grew  less  when  he  understood 
clearly  that  he  had  something  the  man  of 
learning  wanted,  and  now  that  the  blessed 
beads  were  safe,  his  fear  had  nearly  all 
gone ;  and  surely,  he  thought,  if  that  big 
cloak,  and  that  little  tight-fitting  shirt 
under  it,  were  warm  and  without  holes, 


THE  OLD  MEN  OF  THE  TWILIGHT     153 

Saint  Patrick  would  take  the  enchantment 
out  of  them  and  leave  them  fit  for  use. 
But  the  old  discoloured  clothes  fell  away 
wherever  his  fingers  touched  them,  and 
presently  a  slight  wind  blew  over  the  pool 
and  crumbled  the  old  man  of  learning  and 
all  his  ancient  gear  into  a  little  heap  of 
dust,  and  then  made  the  little  heap  less  and 
less  until  there  was  nothing  but  the  smooth 
green  grass. 


WHERE    THERE    IS    NOTHING, 
THERE  IS  GOD 

Abbot  Malathgeneus,  Brother  Dove, 
Brother  Bald  Fox,  Brother  Peter,  Brother 
Patrick,  Brother  Bittern,  Brother  Fair- 
Brows  sat  about  the  fire,  one  mending 
lines  to  lay  in  the  river  for  eels,  one  fashion- 
ing a  snare  for  birds,  one  mending  the 
broken  handle  of  a  spade,  one  writing  in  a 
large  book,  and  one  hammering  at  the 
corner  of  a  gold  box  that  was  to  hold  the 
book ;  and  among  the  rushes  at  their  feet 
lay  the  scholars,  who  would  one  day  be 
Brothers.  One  of  these,  a  child  of  eight 
or  nine  years,  called  Olioll,  lay  upon  his 
back  looking  up  through  the  hole  in  the 
roof,  through  which  the  smoke  went,  and 
watching  the  stars  appearing  and  dis- 
appearing in  the  smoke.  He  turned  pres- 
ently to  the  Brother  who  wrote  in  the  big 
book,  and  whose  duty  was  to  teach  the 
children,  and  said,  'Brother  Dove,  to  what 
154 


WHERE   THERE  IS  NOTHING      155 

are  the  stars  fastened?'  The  Brother, 
pleased  to  find  so  much  curiosity  in  the 
stupidest  of  his  scholars,  laid  down  the  pen 
and  said, '  There  are  nine  crystalline  spheres, 
and  on  the  first  the  Moon  is  fastened,  on 
the  second  the  planet  Mercury,  on  the 
third  the  planet  Venus,  on  the  fourth 
the  Sun,  on  the  fifth  the  planet  Mars,  on  the 
sixth  the  planet  Jupiter,  on  the  seventh  the 
planet  Saturn ;  these  are  the  wandering 
stars ;  and  on  the  eighth  are  fastened  the 
fixed  stars;  but  the  ninth  sphere  is  a 
sphere  made  out  of  the  First  Substance.' 

'What  is  beyond  that?'  said  the  child. 

'There  is  nothing  beyond  that ;  there  is 
God.' 

And  then  the  child's  eyes  strayed  to  the 
gold  box,  and  he  said,  'Why  has  Brother 
Peter  put  a  great  ruby  on  the  side  of  his 
box?' 

'  The  ruby  is  a  symbol  of  the  love  of  God.' 

'Why  is  the  ruby  a  symbol  of  the  love  of 
God?' 

'Because  it  is  red,  like  fire,  and  fire 
burns  up  everything,  and  where  there  is 
nothing,  there  is  God.' 


156  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

The  child  sank  into  silence,  but  presently 
sat  up  and  said,  'There  is  somebody  out- 
side.' 

'No,'  replied  the  Brother.  'It  is  only 
the  wolves ;  I  have  heard  them  moving 
about  in  the  snow  for  some  time.  They 
are  growing  very  wild,  now  that  the  winter 
drives  them  from  the  mountains.  They 
broke  into  a  fold  last  night  and  carried 
off  many  sheep,  and  if  we  are  not  careful 
they  will  devour  everything.' 

'  No,  it  is  the  footstep  of  a  man,  for  it  is 
heavy ;  but  I  can  hear  the  footsteps  of  the 
wolves  also.' 

He  had  no  sooner  done  speaking  than 
somebody  rapped   three   times. 

'I  will  go  and  open,  for  he  must  be  very 
cold.' 

'  Do  not  open,  for  it  may  be  a  man-wolf, 
and  he  may  devour  us  all.' 

But  the  boy  had  already  drawn  the 
bolt,  and  all  the  faces,  most  of  them  a  little 
pale,  turned  towards  the  slowly-opening 
door. 

'  He  has  beads  and  a  cross,  he  cannot  be  a 
man-wolf,'  said  the  child,  as  a  man  with  the 


WHERE   THERE  IS  NOTHING      157 

snow  heavy  on  his  long,  ragged  beard,  and 
on  his  matted  hair,  that  fell  over  his 
shoulders  and  nearly  to  his  waist,  and  upon 
the  tattered  cloak  that  but  half-covered  his 
withered  brown  body,  came  in  and  looked 
slowly  from  face  to  face.  Standing  some 
way  from  the  fire,  and  with  eyes  that  had 
rested  at  last  upon  the  Abbot  Malath- 
geneus,  he  said,  '0  blessed  abbot,  let  me 
come  to  the  fire  and  warm  myself;  that 
I  may  not  die  of  the  cold  and  anger  the 
Lord  with  a  wilful  martyrdom.' 

'Come  to  the  fire,'  said  the  abbot. 
'  It  is  a  pitiful  thing  surely  that  any  for 
whom  Christ  has  died  should  be  as  poor  as 
you.' 

The  man  sat  over  the  fire,  and  Olioll 
took  away  his  now  dripping  cloak  and 
laid  meat  and  bread  and  wine  before  him ; 
but  he  would  eat  only  of  the  bread,  and  he 
put  away  the  wine,  asking  for  water. 
When  his  beard  and  hair  had  begun  to  dry 
and  his  limbs  had  ceased  to  shiver,  he  spoke 
again. 

'  Set  me  to  some  labour,  the  hardest  there 
is,  for  I  am  the  poorest  of  God's  poor.' 


158  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

Then  the  Brothers  discussed  together 
what  work  they  could  put  him  to,  and  at 
first  to  Uttle  purpose,  for  there  was  no 
labour  that  had  not  found  its  labourer; 
but  at  last  one  remembered  that  Brother 
Bald  Fox,  whose  business  it  was  to  turn 
the  great  quern  in  the  quern-house,  for 
he  was  too  stupid  for  anything  else,  was 
getting  old;  and  so  he  could  go  to  the 
quern-house  in  the  morning. 

The  cold  passed  away,  and  the  spring 
grew  to  summer,  and  the  quern  was  never 
idle,  nor  was  it  turned  with  grudging 
labour,  for  when  any  passed  the  beggar 
was  heard  singing  as  he  drove  the  handle 
round.  The  last  reason  for  gloom  passed 
from  the  brotherhood,  for  Olioll,  who  had 
always  been  stupid  and  unteachable,  grew 
clever,  and  this  was  the  more  miraculous 
because  it  had  come  of  a  sudden.  One 
day  he  had  been  even  duller  than  usual, 
and  was  beaten  and  told  to  know  his 
lesson  better  in  future  or  be  sent  into  a 
lower  class  among  httle  boys  who  would 
make  a  joke  of  him.  He  had  gone  out 
in  tears,  and  when  he  came  the  next  day, 


WHERE   THERE  IS  NOTHING      159 

although  his  stupidity  had  so  long  been 
the  byword  of  the  school,  he  knew  his 
lesson  so  well  that  he  passed  to  the  head  of 
the  class,  and  from  that  day  was  the  best 
of  scholars.  At  first  Brother  Dove  thought 
this  was  an  answer  to  his  own  prayers  and 
grew  proud ;  but  when  many  far  more 
fervid  prayers  for  more  important  things 
had  failed,  he  convinced  himself  that 
the  child  was  trafficking  with  bards,  or 
druids,  or  witches,  and  resolved  to  follow 
and  watch.  He  had  told  his  thought  to 
the  abbot,  who  told  him  to  come  to  him  the 
moment  he  hit  the  truth;  and  the  next 
day,  which  was  a  Sunday,  he  stood  in  the 
path  when  the  abbot  and  the  Brothers 
were  coming  from  vespers,  and  took  the 
abbot  by  the  sleeve  and  said,  'The  beggar 
is  of  the  greatest  of  saints  and  of  the 
workers  of  miracle.  I  followed  OlioU  but 
now,  and  when  he  came  to  the  little  wood 
by  the  quern-house  I  knew  by  the  path 
broken  in  the  under-wood  and  by  the 
foot-marks  in  the  muddy  places  that  he  had 
gone  that  way  many  times.  I  hid  behind 
a  bush  where  the  path  doubled  upon  itself 


160  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

at  a  sloping  place,  and  understood  by  the 
tears  in  his  eyes  that  his  stupidity  was  too 
old  and  his  wisdom  too  new  to  save  him 
from  terror  of  the  rod.  When  he  was  in 
the  quern-house  I  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  in,  and  the  birds  came  down  and 
perched  upon  my  head  and  my  shoulders, 
for  they  are  not  timid  in  that  holy  place ; 
and  a  wolf  passed  by,  his  right  side  shaking 
my  habit,  his  left  the  leaves  of  a  bush. 
OlioU  opened  his  book  and  turned  to  the 
page  I  had  told  him  to  learn,  and  began 
to  cry,  and  the  beggar  sat  beside  him  and 
comforted  him  until  he  fell  asleep.  When 
his  sleep  was  of  the  deepest  the  beggar 
knelt  down  and  prayed  aloud,  and  said, 
"O  Thou  Who  dwellest  beyond  the  stars, 
show  forth  Thy  power  as  at  the  beginning, 
and  let  knowledge  sent  from  Thee  awaken 
in  his  mind,  wherein  is  nothing  from  the 
world";  and  then  a  hght  broke  out  of 
the  air  and  I  smelt  the  breath  of  roses. 
I  stirred  a  little,  and  the  beggar  turned  and 
saw  me,  and,  bending  low,  said,  ''O 
Brother  Dove,  if  I  have  done  wrong, 
forgive  me,  and  I  will  do  penance.    It  was 


WHERE  THERE  IS  NOTHING      161 

my  pity  moved  me";  but  I  was  afraid 
and  I  ran  away,  and  did  not  stop  running 
until  I  came  here.' 

Then  all  the  Brothers  began  talking 
together,  one  saying  it  was  such  and  such  a 
saint,  and  one  that  it  was  not  he  but 
another;  and  one  that  it  was  none  of 
these,  for  they  were  still  in  their  brother- 
hoods, but  that  it  was  such  and  such  a 
one ;  and  the  talk  was  near  to  quarrelling, 
for  each  had  begun  to  claim  so  great  a 
saint  for  his  native  province.  At  last  the 
abbot  said,  'He  is  none  that  you  have 
named,  for  at  Easter  I  had  greeting  from 
all,  and  each  was  in  his  brotherhood ; 
but  he  is  Aengus  the  Walker  to  Nowhere. 
Ten  years  ago  he  went  into  the  forest 
that  he  might  labour  only  with  song  to 
the  Lord ;  but  the  fame  of  his  holiness 
brought  many  thousands  to  his  cell,  so 
that  a  httle  pride  clung  to  a  soul  from 
which  all  else  had  been  driven.  Nine 
years  ago  he  di-essed  himself  in  rags,  and 
from  that  day  nobody  has  seen  him, 
unless,  indeed,  it  be  true  that  he  has  been 
seen    Hving    among    the    wolves    on    the 

M 


162  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

mountains  and  eating  the  grass  of  the 
fields.  Let  us  go  to  him  and  bow  down 
before  him;  for  at  last,  after  long  seek- 
ing, he  has  found  the  nothing  that  is 
God.' 


PROUD  COSTELLO,  MACDERMOT'S 
DAUGHTER  AND  THE  BIT- 
TER TONGUE 

CosTELLO  had  come  up  from  the  fields 
and  lay  upon  the  ground  before  the  door 
of  his  square  tower,  resting  his  head  upon 
his  hands  and  looking  at  the  sunset,  and 
considering  the  chances  of  the  weather. 
Though  the  customs  of  Ehzabeth  and 
James,  now  going  out  of  fashion  in  Eng- 
land, had  begun  to  prevail  among  the 
gentry,  he  still  wore  the  great  cloak  of 
the  native  Irish ;  and  the  sensitive  outlines 
of  his  face  and  his  big  body  had  the  pride 
and  strength  of  a  simpler  age.  His  eyes 
wandered  from  the  sunset  to  where  the 
long  white  road  lost  itself  over  the  south- 
western horizon  and  to  a  horseman  who 
toiled  slowly  up  the  hill.  A  few  more 
minutes  and  the  horseman  was  near  enough 
for  his  little  and  shapeless  body,  his  long 
Irish  cloak,  and  the  dilapidated  bagpipes 
163 


164  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

hanging  from  his  shoulders,  and  the 
rough-haired  garron  under  him,  to  be 
seen  distinctly  in  the  grey  dusk.  So 
soon  as  he  had  come  within  earshot,  he 
began  crying :  '  Is  it  sleeping  you  are, 
Tumaus  Costello,  when  better  men  break 
their  hearts  on  the  great  white  roads  ?  Get 
up  out  of  that,  proud  Tumaus,  for  I  have 
news !  Get  up  out  of  that,  you  great 
omadhaun !  Shake  yourself  out  of  the 
earth,  you  great  weed  of  a  man  ! ' 

Costello  had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  as 
the  piper  came  up  to  him  seized  him  by 
the  neck  of  his  jacket,  and  lifting  him  out 
of  his  saddle  threw  him  on  to  the  ground. 

'Let  me  alone,  let  me  alone,'  said  the 
other,  but  Costello  still  shook  him. 

'I  have  news  from  MacDermot's  daugh- 
ter, Una. '  The  great  fingers  were  loosened, 
and  the  piper  rose  gasping. 

'Why  did  you  not  tell  me,'  said  Costello, 
'that  you  came  from  her?  You  might 
have  railed  your  fill.' 

'I  have  come  from  her,  but  I  will  not 
speak  until  I  am  paid  for  the  shaking.' 

Costello  fumbled  at  the  bag  in  which 


PROUD  COSTS LLO  165 

he  carried  his  money,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  it  would  open,  for  his  hand  shook. 
'Here  is  all  the  money  in  my  bag,'  he  said, 
dropping  some  French  and  Spanish  money 
into  the  hand  of  the  piper,  who  bit  the 
coins  before  he  would  answer. 

'That  is  right,  that  is  a  fair  price,  but 
I  will  not  speak  till  I  have  good  protection, 
for  if  the  MacDermots  lay  their  hands 
upon  me  in  any  boreen  after  sundown,  or 
in  Cool-a-vin  by  day,  I  will  be  left  to  rot 
among  the  nettles  of  a  ditch,  or  hung 
where  they  hung  the  horse-thieves  last 
Beltaine  four  years.'  And  while  he  spoke 
he  tied  the  reins  of  his  garron  to  a  bar  of 
rusty  iron  that  was  mortared  into  the  wall. 

'  I  will  make  you  my  piper  and  my  body- 
servant,'  said  Costello,  'and  no  man  dare 
lay  hands  upon  a  man,  or  upon  a  dog  if  he 
belong  to  Tumaus  Costello.' 

'And  I  will  only  tell  my  message,'  said 
the  other,  flinging  the  saddle  on  the  ground, 
'with  a  noggin  in  my  hand,  and  a  jug  of 
the  Poteen  beside  me,  for  though  I  am 
ragged  and  empty,  my  old  fathers  were 
well  clothed  and  full  until  their  house  was 


166  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

burnt  and  their  cattle  driven  away  seven 
centuries  ago  by  the  Dillons,  whom  I  shall 
yet  see  on  the  hob  of  hell,  and  they  screech- 
ing/ 

Costello  led  him  into  the  rush-strewn 
hall,  where  were  none  of  the  comforts 
which  had  begun  to  grow  common  among 
the  gentry,  but  a  mediaeval  gauntness  and 
bareness,  and  pointed  to  the  bench  in  the 
great  chimney;  and  when  the  piper  had 
sat  down,  filled  up  a  horn  noggin  and  set 
it  on  the  bench  beside  him,  and  jug  beside 
that,  and  lit  a  torch  that  slanted  out  from 
a  ring  in  the  wall ;  and  then  turned  towards 
him  and  said  :  'Will  MacDermot's  daugh- 
ter come  to  me,  Duallach,  son  of  Daly  ? ' 

'MacDermot's  daughter  will  not  come  to 
you,  for  her  father  has  set  women  to 
watch  her,  but  I  am  to  tell  you  that  this 
day  week  will  be  the  eve  of  St.  John  and 
the  night  of  her  betrothal  to  MacNamara 
of  the  Lake,  and  she  wants  you  to  be 
there  that,  when  they  tell  her  to  drink 
to  him  she  loves  best,  she  may  drink  to 
you,  Tumaus  Costello,  and  let  all  know 
where  her  heart  is;  and  I  myself  advise 


PROUD  COSTELLO  167 

you  to  go  with  good  men  about  you,  for 
I  have  seen  the  horse-thieves  with  my 
own  eyes.'  And  then  he  held  the  now 
empty  noggin  towards  Costello,  and  cried  : 
'Fill  my  noggin  again,  for  I  wish  the  day 
had  come  when  all  the  water  in  the  world 
is  to  shrink  into  a  periwinkle-shell,  that  I 
might  drink  nothing  but  Poteen.' 

Finding  that  Costello  made  no  reply, 
but  sat  in  a  dream,  he  burst  out :  '  Fill 
my  noggin,  I  tell  you,  for  no  Costello  is 
so  great  in  the  world  that  he  should  not 
wait  upon  a  Daly,  even  though  the  Daly 
travel  the  road  with  his  pipes  and  the 
Costello  have  a  bare  hill,  an  empty  house, 
a  horse,  and  a  handful  of  cows.' 

'Praise  the  Dalys  if  you  will,'  said 
Costello  as  he  filled  the  noggin,  'for  you 
have  brought  me  a  kind  word  from  my 
love.' 

For  the  next  few  days  Duallach  went 
here  and  there  trying  to  raise  a  bodyguard, 
and  every  man  he  met  had  some  story 
of  Costello,  how  he  killed  the  wrestler 
when  but  a  boy  by  so  straining  at  the  belt 
that  went  about  them  both  that  he  broke 


168  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

the  big  wrestler's  back ;  how  when  some- 
what older  he  dragged  fierce  horses  through 
a  ford  for  a  wager ;  how  when  he  came  to 
manhood  he  broke  the  steel  horseshoe 
in  Mayo ;  and  of  many  another  deed  of 
his  strength  and  pride ;  but  he  could  find 
none  who  would  trust  themselves  with 
any  so  passionate  and  poor  in  a  quarrel 
with  careful  and  wealthy  persons  like 
MacDermot  of  the  Sheep  and  MacNamara 
of  the  Lake. 

Then  Costello  went  out  himself,  and 
after  listening  to  many  excuses  and  in 
many  places,  brought  in  a  big  half-witted 
fellow,  a  farm-labourer  who  worshipped 
him  for  his  strength,  a  fat  farmer  whose 
forefathers  had  served  his  family,  and  a 
couple  of  lads  who  looked  after  his  goats 
and  cows ;  and  marshalled  them  before 
the  fire.  They  had  brought  with  them 
their  heavy  sticks,  and  Costello  gave  them 
an  old  pistol  apiece,  and  kept  them  all 
night  drinking  and  shooting  at  a  white 
turnip  which  he  pinned  against  the  wall 
with  a  skewer.  Duallach  sat  on  the  bench 
in  the  chimney  playing  '  The  Green  Bunch 


PROUD  COSTELLO  169 

of  Rushes/  'The  Unchion  Stream/  and 
'The  Princes  of  Breffeny'  on  his  old  pipes, 
and  abusing  now  the  appearance  of  the 
shooters,  now  their  clumsy  shooting,  and 
now  Costello  because  he  had  no  better 
servants.  The  labourer,  the  half-witted 
fellow,  the  farmer  and  the  lads  were  well 
accustomed  to  Duallach's  abusiveness,  for 
it  was  as  inseparable  from  wake  or  wedding 
as  the  squealing  of  his  pipes,  but  they 
wondered  at  the  forbearance  of  Costello, 
who  seldom  came  either  to  wake  or 
wedding,  and  if  he  had  would  not  have 
been  patient  with  a  scolding  piper. 

On  the  next  evening  they  set  out  for 
Cool-a-vin,  Costello  riding  a  tolerable 
horse  and  carrying  a  sword,  the  others 
upon  rough-haired  ponies,  and  with  their 
cudgels  under  their  arms.  As  they  rode 
over  the  bogs  and  in  the  boreens  among 
the  hills  they  could  see  fire  answering  fire 
from  hill  to  hill,  from  horizon  to  horizon, 
and  everywhere  groups  who  danced  in  the 
red  light  of  the  turf.  When  they  came  to 
MacDermot's  house  they  saw  before  the 
door  an  unusually  large  group  of  the  very 


170  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

poor,  dancing  about  a  fire,  in  the  midst  of 
which  was  a  blazing  cartwheel,  that  circular 
dance  which  is  so  ancient  that  the  gods,  long 
dwindled  to  be  but  fairies,  dance  no  other. 
From  the  door  and  through  the  loop-holes 
on  either  side  came  the  light  of  candles 
and  the  sound  of  many  feet  dancing  a 
dance  of  Elizabeth  and  James. 

They  tied  their  horses  to  bushes,  for  the 
number  so  tied  already  showed  that  the 
stables  were  full,  and  shoved  their  way 
through  a  crowd  of  peasants  who  stood 
about  the  door,  and  went  into  the  big  hall 
where  the  dance  was.  The  labourer,  the 
half-witted  fellow,  the  farmer  and  the  two 
lads  mixed  with  a  group  of  servants  who 
were  looking  on  from  an  alcove,  and 
Duallach  sat  with  the  pipers  on  their 
bench,  but  Costello  made  his  way  through 
the  dancers  to  where  MacDermot  stood 
with  MacNamara  pouring  Poteen  out  of  a 
porcelain  jug  into  horn  noggins. 

'Tumaus  Costello,'  said  the  old  man, 
'you  have  done  a  good  deed  to  forget 
what  has  been,  and  come  to  the  betrothal 
of  my  daughter  to  Mac^^amara  of  the  Lake.' 


PROUD  COSTELLO  171 

'I  come,'  answered  Costello,  'because 
when  in  the  time  of  Costello  De  Angalo 
my  ancestors  overcame  your  ancestors 
and  afterwards  made  peace,  a  compact 
was  made  that  a  Costello  might  go  with 
his  body-servants  and  his  piper  to  every 
feast  given  by  a  MacDermot  for  ever, 
and  a  MacDermot  with  his  body-servants 
and  his  piper  to  every  feast  given  by  a 
Costello  for  ever.' 

'If  you  come  with  evil  thoughts  and 
armed  men,'  said  MacDermot  flushing,  'no 
matter  how  good  you  are  with  your 
weapons,  it  shall  go  badly  with  you,  for 
some  of  my  wife's  clan  have  come  out  of 
Mayo,  and  my  three  brothers  and  their 
servants  have  come  down  from  the  Ox 
Mountains ' ;  and  while  he  spoke  he  kept 
his  hand  inside  his  coat  as  though  upon  the 
handle  of  a  weapon, 

'No,'  answered  Costello,  'I  but  come  to 
dance  a  farewell  dance  with  your  daughter.' 

MacDermot  drew  his  hand  out  of  his 
coat  and  went  over  to  a  pale  girl  who  was 
now  standing  but  a  little  way  off  with 
her  mild  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground. 


172  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

'Costello  has  come  to  dance  a  farewell 
dance,  for  he  knows  that  you  will  never 
see  one  another  again.' 

The  girl  lifted  her  eyes  and  gazed  at 
Costello,  and  in  her  gaze  was  that  trust 
of  the  humble  in  the  proud,  the  gentle  in 
the  violent,  which  has  been  the  tragedy  of 
woman  from  the  beginning.  Costello  led 
her  among  the  dancers,  and  they  were  soon 
drawn  into  the  rhythm  of  the  Pavane, 
that  stately  dance  which,  with  the  Sara- 
band, the  Gallead,  and  the  Morrice  dances, 
had  driven  out,  among  all  but  the  most 
Irish  of  the  gentry,  the  quicker  rhythms 
of  the  verse-interwoven,  pantomimic 
dances  of  earlier  days ;  and  while  they 
danced  there  came  over  them  the  weariness 
with  the  world,  the  melancholy,  the  pity 
one  for  the  other,  the  vague  anger  against 
common  hopes  and  fears,  which  is  the  exul- 
tation of  love.  And  when  a  dance  ended 
and  the  pipers  laid  down  the  pipes  and 
lifted  the  noggins,  they  stood  a  little 
from  the  others  waiting  pensively  and 
silently  for  the  dance  to  begin  again  and 
the  fire  in  their  hearts  to  leap  up  and  to 


PROUD  COSTELLO  173 

wrap  them  anew;  and  so  they  danced 
Pavane  and  Saraband  and  Gallead  and 
Morrice  the  night  long,  and  many  stood 
still  to  watch  them,  and  the  peasants  came 
about  the  door  and  peered  in,  as  though 
they  understood  that  they  would  gather 
their  children's  children  about  them  long 
hence,  and  tell  how  they  had  seen  Costello 
dance  with  MacDermot's  daughter  Una, 
and  become  by  the  telling  themselves  a 
portion  of  ancient  romance ;  but  through 
all  the  dancing  and  piping  MacNamara 
went  hither  and  thither  talking  loudly  and 
making  foolish  jokes  that  all  might  seem 
well,  and  old  MacDermot  grew  redder 
and  redder,  and  looked  oftener  and  oftener 
at  the  doorway  to  see  if  the  candles  there 
grew  yellow  in  the  dawn. 

At  last  he  saw  that  the  moment  to  end 
had  come,  and,  in  a  pause  after  a  dance, 
cried  out  that  his  daughter  would  now 
drink  the  cup  of  betrothal ;  then  Una 
came  over  to  where  he  was,  and  the  guests 
stood  round  in  a  half-circle,  Costello  close 
to  the  wall  to  the  right,  and  the  piper,  the 
labourer,  the  farmer,  the  half-witted  man 


174  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

and  the  two  farm  lads  close  behind  him. 
The  old  man  took  out  of  a  niche  in  the  wall 
the  silver  cup  from  which  her  mother 
and  her  mother's  mother  had  drunk  the 
toasts  of  their  betrothals,  and  poured 
Poteen  out  of  a  porcelain  jug  and  handed 
the  cup  to  his  daughter  with  the  cus- 
tomary words,  'Drink  to  him  whom  you 
love  the  best.' 

She  held  the  cup  to  her  lips  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said  in  a  clear  soft  voice :  '  I 
drink  to  my  true  love,  Tumaus  Costello.' 

And  then  the  cup  rolled  over  and  over  on 
the  ground,  ringing  like  a  bell,  for  the  old 
man  had  struck  her  in  the  face  and  the 
cup  had  fallen,  and  there  was  a  deep 
silence. 

There  were  many  of  MacNamara's 
people  among  the  servants  now  come  out  of 
the  alcove,  and  one  of  them,  a  story-teller 
and  poet,  who  had  a  plate  and  chair  in 
MacNamara's  kitchen,  drew  a  French 
knife  out  of  his  girdle  and  seemed  as  though 
he  would  strike  at  Costello,  but  in  a 
moment  had  been  hurled  to  the  ground, 
his  shoulder  sending  the  cup  rolling  and 


PROUD  COSTELLO  175 

ringing  again.  The  click  of  steel  had 
followed  quickly,  had  not  there  come  a 
muttering  and  shouting  from  the  peasants 
about  the  door  and  from  those  crowding 
up  behind  them ;  for  all  knew  that  these 
were  no  children  of  Queen's  Irish,  but  of  the 
wild  Irish  about  Lough  Gara  and  Lough 
Cara,  Kellys,  Dockerys,  Drurys,  O'Re- 
gans,  Mahons,  and  Lavins,  who  had  left 
the  right  arms  of  their  children  unchris- 
tened  that  they  might  give  the  better  blows, 
and  were  even  said  to  have  named  the 
wolves  godfathers  to  their  children. 

Costello's  hand  rested  upon  the  handle 
of  his  sword,  and  his  knuckles  had  grown 
white,  but  now  he  drew  his  hand  away, 
and,  followed  by  those  who  were  with  him, 
went  towards  the  door,  the  dancers  giving 
way  before  him,  the  most  angrily  and 
slowly,  and  with  glances  at  the  muttering 
and  shouting  peasants,  but  some  gladly 
and  quickly,  because  the  glory  of  his  fame 
was  over  him.  He  passed  through  the 
fierce  and  friendly  peasant  faces,  and  came 
where  his  horse  and  the  ponies  were  tied 
to  bushes;    and  mounted  and  made  his 


176  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

bodyguard  mount  also  and  ride  into  the 
narrow  boreen.  When  they  had  gone  a 
little  way,  Duallach,  who  rode  last,  turned 
towards  the  house  where  a  little  group  of 
MacDermots  and  MacNamaras  stood  next 
to  a  bigger  group  of  countrymen,  and 
cried  :  'MacDermot,  you  deserve  to  be  as 
you  are  this  hour,  for  your  hand  was 
always  niggardly  to  piper  and  fiddler  and 
to  poor  travelling  people.'  He  had  not 
done  before  the  three  old  MacDermots 
from  the  Ox  Mountains  had  run  towards 
their  horses,  and  old  MacDermot  himself 
had  caught  the  bridle  of  a  pony  belong- 
ing to  the  MacNamaras  and  was  calling 
to  the  others  to  follow  him ;  and  many 
blows  and  many  deaths  had  been  had  not 
the  countrymen  caught  up  still  blazing 
sticks  from  the  ashes  of  the  fires  and 
thrown  them  among  the  horses  with  loud 
cries,  making  all  plunge  and  rear,  and  some 
break  from  those  who  held  them,  the  whites 
of  their  eyes  gleaming  in  the  dawn. 

For  the  next  few  weeks  Costello  had  no 
lack  of  news  of  Una,  for  now  a  woman 
selling  eggs,  and  now  a  man  or  a  woman 


PROUD  COSTELLO  177 

going  to  the  Holy  Well,  would  tell  him 
how  his  love  had  fallen  ill  the  day  after 
St.  John's  Eve,  and  how  she  was  a  little 
better  or  a  little  worse ;  and  the  country 
people  still  remember  how  when  night  had 
fallen  he  would  bid  Duallach  of  the  Pipes 
tell  out,  'The  Son  of  Apple,'  'The  Beauty 
of  the  World,'  'The  King  of  Ireland's 
Son,'  or  some  like  tale;  and  while  the 
world  of  the  legends  was  a-building,  would 
abandon  himself  to  the  dreams  of  his 
sorrow. 

Costello  cared  only  for  the  love  sorrows, 
and  no  matter  where  the  stories  wandered, 
Una  alone  endured  their  shadowy  hard- 
ships ;  for  it  was  she  and  no  king's  daughter 
who  was  hidden  in  the  steel  tower  under 
the  water  with  the  folds  of  the  Worm  of 
Nine  Eyes  round  and  about  her  prison ; 
and  it  was  she  who  won  by  seven  years  of 
service  the  right  to  deliver  from  hell  all 
she  could  carry,  and  carried  away  multi- 
tudes clinging  with  worn  fingers  to  the 
hem  of  her  dress ;  and  it  was  she  who  en- 
dured dumbness  for  a  year  because  of  the 
little  thorn  of  enchantment  the  fairies  had 


178  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

thrust  into  her  tongue ;  and  it  was  a  lock 
of  her  hair,  coiled  in  a  little  carved  box, 
which  gave  so  great  a  light  that  men 
threshed  by  it  from  sundown  to  sunrise, 
and  awoke  so  great  a  wonder  that  kings 
spent  years  in  wandering  or  fell  before 
unknown  armies  in  seeking  to  discover  her 
hiding-place.  There  was  no  beauty  in 
the  world  but  hers,  no  tragedy  in  the 
world  but  hers ;  for  he  was  of  those  ascetics 
of  passion  who  keep  their  hearts  pure  for 
love  or  for  hatred  as  other  men  for  God, 
for  Mary  and  for  the  Saints. 

One  day  a  serving-man  rode  up  to  Cos- 
tello,  who  was  helping  his  two  lads  to  reap 
a  meadow,  and  gave  him  a  letter,  and  rode 
away ;  and  the  letter  contained  these  words 
in  English  :  'Tumaus  Costello,  my  daugh- 
ter is  very  ill.  She  will  die  unless  you  come 
to  her.  I  therefore  command  you  come 
to  her  whose  peace  you  stole  by  treachery.' 

Costello  threw  down  his  scythe,  and  sent 
one  of  the  lads  for  Duallach,  who  had  be- 
come woven  into  his  mind  with  Una,  and 
himself  saddled  his  horse  and  Duallach's 
pony. 


PROUD  COSTELLO  179 

When  they  came  to  MacDermot's  house 
it  was  late  afternoon,  and  Lough  Gara 
lay  down  below  them,  blue,  and  deserted ; 
and  though  they  had  seen,  when  at  a  dis- 
tance, dark  figures  moving  about  the 
door,  the  house  appeared  not  less  deserted 
than  the  Lough.  The  door  stood  half 
open,  and  Costello  knocked  upon  it  again 
and  again,  but  there  was  no  answer. 

'There  is  no  one  here,'  said  Duallach, 
'for  MacDermot  is  too  proud  to  welcome 
Proud  Costello,'  and  he  threw  the  door 
open,  and  they  saw  a  ragged,  dirty,  very 
old  woman,  who  sat  upon  the  floor  leaning 
against  the  wall.  Costello  knew  that  it 
was  Bridget  Delaney,  a  deaf  and  dumb 
beggar ;  and  she,  when  she  saw  him,  stood 
up  and  made  a  sign  to  him  to  follow,  and 
led  him  and  his  companion  up  a  stair  and 
down  a  long  corridor  to  a  closed  door. 
She  pushed  the  door  open  and  went  a 
little  way  off  and  sat  down  as  before; 
Duallach  sat  upon  the  ground  also,  but 
close  to  the  door,  and  Costello  went  and 
gazed  upon  Una  sleeping  upon  a  bed.  He 
sat  upon  a  chair  beside  her  and  waited, 


180  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

and  a  long  time  passed  and  still  she  slept, 
and  then  Duallach  motioned  to  him 
through  the  door  to  wake  her,  but  he 
hushed  his  very  breath,  that  she  might 
sleep  on.  Presently  he  turned  to  Duallach 
and  said :  '  It  is  not  right  that  I  stay  here 
where  there  are  none  of  her  kindred,  for 
the  common  people  are  always  ready  to 
blame  the  beautiful.'  And  then  they  went 
down  and  stood  at  the  door  of  the  house 
and  waited,  but  the  evening  wore  on  and 
no  one  came. 

'It  was  a  foolish  man  that  called  you 
Proud  Costello,'  Duallach  said  at  last ; 
'had  he  seen  you  waiting  and  waiting 
where  they  left  none  but  a  beggar  to  wel- 
come you,  it  is  Humble  Costello  he  would 
have  called  you.' 

Then  Costello  mounted  and  Duallach 
mounted,  but  when  they  had  ridden  a  little 
way  Costello  tightened  the  reins  and  made 
his  horse  stand  still.  Many  minutes 
passed,  and  then  Duallach  cried :  '  It  is 
no  wonder  that  you  fear  to  offend  Mac- 
Dermot  of  the  Sheep,  for  he  has  many 
brothers  and  friends,   and  though  he  is 


PROUD  COSTELLO  181 

old,  he  is  a  strong  and  stirring  man,  and 
he  is  of  the  Queen's  Irish,  and  the  enemies 
of  the  Gael  are  upon  his  side.' 

And  Costello  answered  flushing  and  look- 
ing towards  the  house :  '  I  swear  by  the 
Mother  of  God  that  I  will  never  return 
there  again  if  they  do  not  send  after  me 
before  I  pass  the  ford  in  the  Brown  River,' 
and  he  rode  on,  but  so  very  slowly  that 
the  sun  went  down  and  the  bats  began  to 
fly  over  the  bogs.  When  he  came  to  the 
river  he  lingered  awhile  upon  the  edge, 
but  presently  rode  out  into  the  middle 
and  stopped  his  horse  in  a  shallow.  Dual- 
lach,  however,  crossed  over  and  waited 
on  a  further  bank  above  a  deeper  place. 
After  a  good  while  Duallach  cried  out 
again,  and  this  time  very  bitterly:  'It 
was  a  fool  who  begot  you  and  a  fool  who 
bore  you,  and  they  are  fools  who  say  you 
come  of  an  old  and  noble  stock,  for  you 
come  of  whey-faced  beggars  who  travelled 
from  door  to  door,  bowing  to  serving-men.' 

With  bent  head,  Costello  rode  through 
the  river  and  stood  beside  him,  and  would 
have  spoken  had  not  hoofs  clattered  on 


182  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

the  further  bank  and  a  horseman  splashed 
towards  them.  It  was  a  serving-man  of 
MacDermot's,  and  he  said,  speaking 
breathlessly  like  one  who  had  ridden  hard  : 
'Tumaus  Costello,  I  come  to  bring  you 
again  to  MacDermot's  house.  When  you 
had  gone,  his  daughter  Una  awoke  and 
called  your  name,  for  you  had  been  in 
her  dreams.  Bridget  Delaney  the  Dummy 
saw  her  lips  move,  and  came  where  we 
were  hiding  in  the  wood  above  the  house 
and  took  MacDermot  by  the  coat  and 
brought  him  to  his  daughter.  He  saw  the 
trouble  upon  her,  and  bid  me  ride  his  own 
horse  to  bring  you  the  quicker.' 

Then  Costello  turned  towards  the  piper 
Duallach  Daly,  and  taking  him  about  the 
waist  lifted  him  out  of  the  saddle  and 
threw  him  against  a  big  stone  that  was  in 
the  river,  so  that  he  fell  lifeless  into  a  deep 
place,  and  the  waters  swept  over  the 
tongue  which  had  been  made  bitter,  it 
may  be,  that  there  might  be  a  story  in 
men's  ears  in  after  time.  Then  plunging 
his  spurs  into  the  horse,  he  rode  away 
furiously  toward  the  north-west,  along  the 


PWUD  COSTELLO  183 

edge  of  the  river,  and  did  not  pause  until 
he  came  to  another  and  smoother  ford,  and 
saw  the  rising  moon  mirrored  in  the  water. 
He  paused  for  a  moment  irresolute,  and 
then  rode  into  the  ford  and  on  over  the 
Ox  Mountains,  and  down  towards  the  sea ; 
his  eyes  almost  continually  resting  upon 
the  moon.  But  now  his  horse,  long  dark 
with  sweat  and  breathing  hard,  for  he 
kept  spurring  it,  fell  heavily,  throwing 
him  on  the  roadside.  He  tried  to  make  it 
stand  up,  and  failing  in  this,  went  on 
alone  towards  the  moonlight ;  and  came 
to  the  sea  and  saw  a  schooner  lying  there 
at  anchor.  Now  that  he  could  go  no 
further  because  of  the  sea,  he  found  that 
he  was  very  tired  and  the  night  very  cold, 
and  went  into  a  shebeen  close  to  the  shore 
and  threw  himself  down  upon  a  bench. 
The  room  was  full  of  Spanish  and  Irish 
sailors  who  had  just  smuggled  a  cargo  of 
wine,  and  were  waiting  a  favourable  wind 
to  set  out  again.  A  Spaniard  offered 
him  a  drink  in  bad  Gaelic.  He  drank  it 
greedily  and  began  talking  wildly  and 
rapidly. 


184  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

For  some  three  weeks  the  wind  blew 
inshore  or  with  too  great  violence,  and  the 
sailors  stayed  drinking  and  talking  and 
playing  cards,  and  Costello  stayed  with 
them,  sleeping  upon  a  bench  in  the  shebeen, 
and  drinking  and  talking  and  playing  more 
than  any.  He  soon  lost  what  little  money 
he  had,  and  then  his  long  cloak  and  his  spurs 
and  even  his  boots.  At  last  a  gentle  wind 
blew  towards  Spain,  and  the  crew  rowed  out 
to  their  schooner,  and  in  a  little  while  the 
sails  had  dropped  under  the  horizon. 
Then  Costello  turned  homeward,  his  life 
gaping  before  him,  and  walked  all  day, 
coming  in  the  early  evening  to  the  road 
that  went  from  near  Lough  Gara  to  the 
southern  edge  of  Lough  Cay.  Here  he 
overtook  a  crowd  of  peasants  and  farmers, 
who  were  walking  very  slowly  after  two 
priests  and  a  group  of  well-dressed  persons, 
certain  of  whom  were  carrying  a  coffin. 
He  stopped  an  old  man  and  asked  whose 
burying  it  was  and  whose  people  they 
were,  and  the  old  man  answered :  '  It 
is  the  burjdng  of  Una,  MacDermot's 
daughter,  and  we  are  the   MacNamaras 


PROVD  COSTELLO  185 

and  the  MacDermots  and  their  follow- 
ing, and  you  are  Tumaus  Costello  who 
murdered  her.' 

Costello  went  on  towards  the  head  of 
the  procession,  passing  men  who  looked 
angrily  at  him,  and  only  vaguely  under- 
stood what  he  had  heard,  for  now  that  he 
had  lost  the  understanding  that  belongs  to 
good  health,  it  seemed  impossible  that  so 
much  gentleness  and  beauty  could  pass 
away.  Presently  he  stopped  and  asked 
again  whose  burying  it  was,  and  a  man 
answered :  '  We  are  carrying  MacDer- 
mot's  daughter  Una,  whom  you  murdered, 
to  be  buried  in  the  island  of  the  Holy 
Trinity,'  and  the  man  picked  up  a  stone 
and  threw  it  at  Costello,  striking  him  on 
the  cheek  and  making  the  blood  flow  out 
over  his  face.  Costello  went  on  scarcely 
feeling  the  blow,  and  coming  to  those 
about  the  coffin,  shouldered  his  way  into 
the  midst  of  them,  and  lajing  his  hand 
upon  the  coffin,  asked  in  a  loud  voice : 
'  Who  is  in  this  coffin  ? ' 

The  Three  Old  MacDermots  from  the 
Ox  Mountains  caught  up  stones  and  told 


186  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

those  about  them  to  do  the  same ;  and  he 
was  driven  from  the  road,  covered  with 
wounds,  and  but  for  the  priests  would 
have  been  killed. 

When  the  procession  had  passed  on, 
Costello  began  to  follow  again,  and  saw 
from  a  distance  the  coffin  laid  upon  a 
large  boat,  and  those  about  it  get  into 
other  boats,  and  the  boats  move  slowly 
over  the  water  to  Insula  Trinitatis;  and 
after  a  time  he  saw  the  boats  return  and 
their  passengers  mingle  with  the  crowd 
upon  the  bank,  and  all  scatter  by  many 
roads  and  boreens.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
Una  was  somewhere  on  the  island  smiling 
gently,  and  when  all  had  gone  he  swam 
in  the  way  the  boats  had  been  rowed  and 
found  the  new-made  grave  beside  the 
ruined  Abbey,  and  threw  himself  upon  it, 
calhng  to  Una  to  come  to  him. 

He  lay  there  all  that  night  and  through 
the  day  after,  from  time  to  time  calling 
her  to  come  to  him,  but  when  the  third 
night  came  he  had  forgotten,  worn  out 
with  hunger  and  sorrow,  that  her  body 
lay  in  the  earth  beneath ;   but  only  knew 


PROUD  COSTELLO  187 

she  was  somewhere  near  and  would  not 
come  to  him. 

Just  before  dawn,  the  hour  when  the 
peasants  hear  his  ghostly  voice  crying  out, 
he  called  loudly:  'If  you  do  not  come  to 
me,  Una,  I  will  go  and  never  return  to  the 
island  of  the  Holy  Trinity,'  and  before 
his  voice  had  died  away  a  cold  and  whirling 
wind  had  swept  over  the  island  and  he  saw 
many  figures  rushing  past,  women  of  the 
Sidhe  with  crowns  of  silver  and  dim  float- 
ing drapery ;  and  then  Una,  but  no  longer 
smiling,  for  she  passed  him  swiftly  and 
angrily,  and  as  she  passed  struck  him 
upon  the  face  crying :  '  Then  go  and  never 
return.' 

He  would  have  followed,  and  was  calling 
out  her  name,  when  the  whole  company 
went  up  into  the  air,  and,  rushing  together 
in  the  shape  of  a  great  silvery  rose,  faded 
into  the  ashen  dawn. 

Costello  got  up  from  the  grave,  under- 
standing nothing  but  that  he  had  made  his 
sweetheart  angry  and  that  she  wished  him 
to  go,  and  wading  out  into  the  lake,  began 
to  swim.    He  swam  on,   but  his  limbs 


188  THE  SECRET  ROSE 

seemed  too  weary  to  keep  him  afloat,  and 
when  he  had  gone  a  Httle  way  he  sank 
without  a  struggle. 

The  next  day  a  fisherman  found  him 
among  the  reeds  upon  the  lake  shore,  lying 
upon  the  white  lake  sand,  and  carried  him 
to  his  own  house.  And  the  very  poor 
lamented  over  him  and  sang  the  keen,  and 
when  the  time  had  come,  laid  him  in  the 
Abbey  on  Insula  Trinitatis  with  only  the 
ruined  altar  between  him  and  MacDer- 
mot's  daughter,  and  planted  above  them 
two  ash-trees  that  in  after  days  wove 
their  branches  together  and  mingled  their 
trembling  leaves. 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA 


O  blessed  and  happy  he,  who  knowing  the 
mysteries  of  the  gods,  sanctifies  his  fife,  and 
purifies  his  soul,  celebrating  orgies  in  the 
mountains  with  holy  purifications.  —  Euripides. 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA 


It  is  now  more  than  ten  years  since  I 
met,  for  the  last  time,  Michael  Robartes, 
and  for  the  first  time  and  the  last  time  his 
friends  and  fellow  students ;  and  wit- 
nessed his  and  their  tragic  end,  and 
endured  those  strange  experiences,  which 
have  changed  me  so  that  my  writings  have 
grown  less  popular  and  less  intelligible, 
and  driven  me  almost  to  the  verge  of 
taking  the  habit  of  St.  Dominic.  I  had 
just  published  Rosa  Alchemica,  a  little 
work  on  the  Alchemists,  somewhat  in  the 
manner  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  and  had 
received  many  letters  from  believers  in 
the  arcane  sciences,  upbraiding  what  they 
called  my  timidity,  for  they  could  not 
believe  so  evident  sympathy  but  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  artist,  which  is  half  pity, 
for  everything  which  has  moved  men's 
191 


192  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

hearts  in  any  age.  I  had  discovered, 
early  in  my  researches,  that  their  doctrine 
was  no  merely  chemical  phantasy,  but  a 
philosophy  they  applied  to  the  world,  to 
the  elements  and  to  man  himself;  and 
that  they  sought  to  fashion  gold  out  of 
common  metals  merely  as  part  of  an 
universal  transmutation  of  all  things  into 
some  divine  and  imperishable  substance ; 
and  this  enabled  me  to  make  my  little 
book  a  fanciful  reverie  over  the  trans- 
mutation of  life  into  art,  and  a  cry 
of  measureless  desire  for  a  world  made 
wholly  of  essences. 

I  was  sitting  dreaming  of  what  I  had 
written,  in  my  house  in  one  of  the  old 
parts  of  Dublin ;  a  house  my  ancestors 
had  made  almost  famous  through  their 
part  in  the  politics  of  the  city  and  their 
friendships  with  the  famous  men  of  their 
generations ;  and  was  feeling  an  unwonted 
happiness  at  having  at  last  accomplished  a 
long-cherished  design,  and  made  my  rooms 
an  expression  of  this  favourite  doctrine. 
The  portraits,  of  more  historical  than  artis- 
tic interest,  had  gone;   and  tapestry,  full 


ROSA  ALCHEMIC  A  193 

of  the  blue  and  bronze  of  peacocks,  fell 
over  the  doors,  and  shut  out  all  history  and 
activity  untouched  with  beauty  and  peace  ; 
and  now  when  I  looked  at  my  Crevelli 
and  pondered  on  the  rose  in  the  hand  of 
the  Virgin,  wherein  the  form  was  so 
delicate  and  precise  that  it  seemed  more 
like  a  thought  than  a  flower,  or  at  the 
grey  dawn  and  rapturous  faces  of  my  Fran- 
cesca,  I  knew  all  a  Christian's  ecstasy 
without  his  slavery  to  rule  and  custom; 
when  I  pondered  over  the  antique  bronze 
gods  and  goddesses,  which  I  had  mort- 
gaged my  house  to  buy,  I  had  all  a  pagan's 
dehght  in  various  beauty  and  without 
his  terror  at  sleepless  destiny  and  his 
labour  with  many  sacrifices ;  and  I  had 
only  to  go  to  my  bookshelf,  where  every 
book  was  bound  in  leather,  stamped  with 
intricate  ornament,  and  of  a  carefully 
chosen  colour :  Shakespeare  in  the  orange 
of  the  glory  of  the  world,  Dante  in  the  dull 
red  of  his  anger,  Milton  in  the  blue  grey 
of  his  formal  calm  ;  and  I  could  experience 
what  I  would  of  human  passions  without 
their  bitterness   and   without   satiety.     I 


194  ROSA  ALCHEMIC  A 

had  gathered  about  me  all  gods  because 
I  beheved  in  none,  and  experienced 
every  pleasure  because  I  gave  myself  to 
none,  but  held  myself  apart,  individual, 
indissoluble,  a  mirror  of  polished  steel: 
I  looked  in  the  triumph  of  this  imagination 
at  the  birds  of  Hera,  glowing  in  the  fire- 
light as  though  they  were  wrought  of 
jewels ;  and  to  my  mind,  for  which  sym- 
bolism was  a  necessity,  they  seemed  the 
doorkeepers  of  my  world,  shutting  out  all 
that  was  not  of  as  affluent  a  beauty  as 
their  own ;  and  for  a  moment  I  thought 
as  I  had  thought  in  so  many  other  moments, 
that  it  was  possible  to  rob  life  of  every 
bitterness  except  the  bitterness  of  death; 
and  then  a  thought  which  had  followed 
this  thought,  time  after  time,  filled  me 
with  a  passionate  sorrow.  All  those  forms : 
that  Madonna  with  her  brooding  purity, 
those  rapturous  faces  singing  in  the  morn- 
ing light,  those  bronze  divinities  with  their 
passionless  dignity,  those  wild  shapes 
rushing  from  despair  to  despair,  belonged 
to  a  divine  world  wherein  I  had  no  part ; 
and  every  experience^  however  profound. 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  195 

every  perception,  however  exquisite,  would 
bring  me  the  bitter  dream  of  a  limitless 
energy  I  could  never  know,  and  even  in  my 
most  perfect  moment  I  would  be  two 
selves,  the  one  watching  with  heavy 
eyes  the  other's  moment  of  content.  I 
had  heaped  about  me  the  gold  born  in 
the  crucibles  of  others ;  but  the  supreme 
dream  of  the  alchemist,  the  transmutation 
of  the  weary  heart  into  a  weariless  spirit, 
was  as  far  from  me  as,  I  doubted  not,  it 
had  been  from  him  also.  I  turned  to  my 
last  purchase,  a  set  of  alchemical  apparatus 
which,  the  dealer  in  the  Rue  le  Peletier  had 
assured  me,  once  belonged  to  Raymond 
Lully,  and  as  I  joined  the  alembic  to  the 
athanor  and  laid  the  lavacrum  maris  at 
their  side,  I  understood  the  alchemical 
doctrine,  that  all  beings,  divided  from 
the  great  deep  where  spirits  wander,  one 
and  yet  a  multitude,  are  weary;  and 
sympathized,  in  the  pride  of  my  connois- 
seurship,  with  the  consuming  thirst  for 
destruction  which  made  the  alchemist  veil 
under  his  symbols  of  lions  and  dragons, 
of  eagles  and  ravens,  of  dew  and  of  nitre,  a 


196  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

search  for  an  essence  which  would  dissolve 
all  mortal  things.  I  repeated  to  myself  the 
ninth  key  of  Basilius  Valentinus,  in  which 
he  compares  the  fire  of  the  last  day  to  the 
fire  of  the  alchemist,  and  the  world  to 
the  alchemist's  furnace,  and  would  have  us 
know  that  all  must  be  dissolved  before 
the  divine  substance,  material  gold  or 
immaterial  ecstasy,  awake.  I  had  dis- 
solved indeed  the  mortal  world  and  lived 
amid  immortal  essences,  but  had  obtained 
no  miraculous  ecstasy.  As  I  thought  of 
these  things,  I  drew  aside  the  curtains  and 
looked  out  into  the  darkness,  and  it  seemed 
to  my  troubled  fancy  that  all  those  little 
points  of  light  filling  the  sky  were  the  fur- 
naces of  innumerable  divine  alchemists, 
who  labour  continually,  turning  lead  into 
gold,  weariness  into  ecstasy,  bodies  into 
souls,  the  darkness  into  God ;  and  at 
their  perfect  labour  my  mortality  grew 
heavy,  and  I  cried  out,  as  so  many  dream- 
ers and  men  of  letters  in  our  age  have 
cried,  for  the  birth  of  that  elaborate  spirit- 
ual beauty  which  could  alone  uplift  souls 
weighted  with  so  many  dreams. 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  197 

II 

My  reverie  was  broken  by  a  loud  knock- 
ing at  the  door,  and  I  wondered  the  more 
at  this  because  I  had  no  visitors,  and  had 
bid  my  servants  do  all  things  silently, 
lest  they  broke  the  dream  of  my  inner  life. 
Feeling  a  little  curious,  I  resolved  to  go 
to  the  door  myself,  and,  taking  one  of  the 
silver  candlesticks  from  the  mantlepiece, 
began  to  descend  the  stairs.  The  servants 
appeared  to  be  out,  for  though  the  sound 
poured  through  every  corner  and  crevice 
of  the  house  there  was  no  stir  in  the  lower 
rooms.  I  remembered  that  because  my 
needs  were  so  few,  my  part  in  life  so  little, 
they  had  begun  to  come  and  go  as  they 
would,  often  leaving  me  alone  for  hours. 
The  emptiness  and  silence  of  a  world  from 
which  I  had  driven  everything  but  dreams 
suddenly  overwhelmed  me,  and  I  shud- 
dered as  I  drew  the  bolt.  I  found  before 
me  Michael  Robartes,  whom  I  had  not 
seen  for  years,  and  whose  wild  red  hair, 
fierce  eyes,  sensitive,  tremulous  lips  and 
rough  clothes,  made  him  look  now,  just  as 
they  used  to  do  fifteen  years  before,  some- 


198  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

thing  between  a  debauchee,  a  saint,  and  a 
peasant.  He  had  recently  come  to  Ireland, 
he  said,  and  wished  to  see  me  on  a  matter 
of  importance :  indeed,  the  only  matter 
of  importance  for  him  and  for  me.  His 
voice  brought  up  before  me  our  student 
years  in  Paris,  and  remembering  the 
magnetic  power  he  had  once  possessed  over 
me,  a  little  fear  mingled  with  much 
annoyance  at  this  irrelevant  intrusion, 
as  I  led  the  way  up  the  wide  staircase, 
where  Swift  had  passed  joking  and  raihng, 
and  Curran  telling  stories  and  quoting 
Greek,  in  simpler  days,  before  men's  minds, 
subtilized  and  complicated  by  the  romantic 
movement  in  art  and  literature,  began  to 
tremble  on  the  verge  of  some  unimagined 
revelation.  I  felt  that  my  hand  shook, 
and  saw  that  the  light  of  the  candle 
wavered  and  quivered  more  than  it  need 
have  upon  the  Maenads  on  the  old  French 
panels,  making  them  look  like  the  first 
beings  slowly  shaping  in  the  formless  and 
void  darkness.  When  the  door  had  closed, 
and  the  peacock  curtain,  glimmering  like 
many-coloured  flame,  fell  between  us  and 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  199 

the  world,  I  felt,  in  a  way  I  could  not 
understand,  that  some  singular  and  un- 
expected thing  was  about  to  happen.  I 
went  over  to  the  mantlepiece,  and  finding 
that  a  little  chainless  bronze  censer,  set, 
upon  the  outside,  with  pieces  of  painted 
china  by  Orazio  Fontana,  which  I  had 
filled  with  antique  amulets,  had  fallen 
upon  its  side  and  poured  out  its  contents, 
I  began  to  gather  the  amulets  into  the  bowl, 
partly  to  collect  my  thoughts  and  partly 
with  that  habitual  reverence  which  seemed 
to  me  the  due  of  things  so  long  connected 
with  secret  hopes  and  fears.  'I  see,'  said 
Michael  Robartes,  'that  you  are  still 
fond  of  incense,  and  I  can  show  you  an 
incense  more  precious  than  any  you  have 
ever  seen,'  and  as  he  spoke  he  took  the 
censer  out  of  my  hand  and  put  the  amulets 
in  a  little  heap  between  the  athanor  and 
the  alembic.  I  sat  down,  and  he  sat  down 
at  the  side  of  the  fire,  and  sat  there  for 
a  while  looking  into  the  fire,  and  holding 
the  censer  in  his  hand.  'I  have  come  to 
ask  you  something/  he  said,  'and  the 
incense  will  fill  the  room,  and  our  thoughts, 


200  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

with  its  sweet  odour  while  we  are  talking. 
I  got  it  from  an  old  man  in  Syria,  who 
said  it  was  made  from  flowers,  of  one  kind 
with  the  flowers  that  laid  their  heavy  purple 
petals  upon  the  hands  and  upon  the  hair 
and  upon  the  feet  of  Christ  in  the  Garden 
of  Gethsemane,  and  folded  Him  in  their 
heavy  breath,  until  he  cried  against  the 
cross  and  his  destiny. '  He  shook  some  dust 
into  the  censer  out  of  a  small  silk  bag,  and 
set  the  censer  upon  the  floor  and  lit  the 
dust  which  sent  up  a  blue  stream  of  smoke, 
that  spread  out  over  the  ceiling,  and 
flowed  downwards  again  until  it  was  like 
Milton's  banyan  tree.  It  filled  me,  as 
incense  often  does,  with  a  faint  sleepiness, 
so  that  I  started  when  he  said, '  I  have  come 
to  ask  you  that  question  which  I  asked 
you  in  Paris,  and  which  you  left  Paris 
rather  than  answer.' 

He  had  turned  his  eyes  towards  me,  and 
I  saw  them  glitter  in  the  firelight,  and 
through  the  incense,  as  I  replied :  '  You 
mean,  will  I  become  an  initiate  of  your 
Order  of  the  Alchemical  Rose?  I  would 
not  consent  in  Paris,  when  I  was  full  of 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  201 

unsatisfied  desire,  and  now  that  I  have  at 
last  fashioned  my  Ufe  according  to  my 
desire,  am  I  Hkely  to  consent  ? ' 

'You  have  changed  greatly  since  then,' 
he  answered.  *I  have  read  your  books, 
and  now  I  see  you  among  all  these  images, 
and  I  understand  you  better  than  you  do 
yourself,  for  I  have  been  with  many  and 
many  dreamers  at  the  same  cross-ways. 
You  have  shut  away  the  world  and 
gathered  the  gods  about  you,  and  if  you 
do  not  throw  yourself  at  their  feet,  you 
will  be  always  full  of  lassitude,  and  of 
wavering  purpose,  for  a  man  must  forget 
he  is  miserable  in  the  bustle  and  noise  of 
the  multitude  in  this  world  and  in  time; 
or  seek  a  mystical  union  with  the  multitude 
who  govern  this  world  and  time.'  And 
then  he  murmured  something  I  could  not 
hear,  and  as  though  to  someone  I  could 
not  see. 

For  a  moment  the  room  appeared  to 
darken,  as  it  used  to  do  when  he  was  about 
to  perform  some  singular  experiment, 
and  in  the  darkness  the  peacocks  upon 
the  doors  seemed  to  glow  with  a  more 


202  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

intense  colour.  I  cast  off  the  illusion, 
which  was,  I  believe,  merely  caused  by 
memory,  and  by  the  twiUght  of  incense, 
for  I  would  not  acknowledge  that  he  could 
overcome  my  now  mature  intellect;  and 
I  said :  '  Even  if  I  grant  that  I  need  a 
spiritual  belief  and  some  form  of  worship, 
why  should  I  go  to  Eleusis  and  not  to 
Calvary?'  He  leaned  forward  and  began 
speaking  with  a  slightly  rhythmical  in- 
tonation, and  as  he  spoke  I  had  to  struggle 
again  with  the  shadow,  as  of  some  older 
night  than  the  night  of  the  sun,  which 
began  to  dim  the  light  of  the  candles  and 
to  blot  out  the  httle  gleams  upon  the 
corner  of  picture-frames  and  on  the  bronze 
divinities,  and  to  turn  the  blue  of  the 
incense  to  a  heavy  purple;  while  it  left 
the  peacocks  to  glimmer  and  glow  as 
though  each  separate  colour  were  a  living 
spirit.  I  had  fallen  into  a  profound 
dream-like  reverie  in  which  I  heard  him 
speaking  as  at  a  distance.  'And  yet 
there  is  no  one  who  communes  with  only 
one  god,'  he  was  saying,  'and  the  more  a 
man  Hves  in  imagination  and  in  a  refined 


ROSA   ALCHEMICA  203 

understanding,  the  more  gods  does  he 
meet  with  and  talk  with,  and  the  more 
does  he  come  under  the  power  of  Roland, 
who  sounded  in  the  Valley  of  Roncesvalles 
the  last  trumpet  of  the  body's  will  and 
pleasure;  and  of  Hamlet,  who  saw  them 
perishing  away,  and  sighed;  and  of 
Faust,  who  looked  for  them  up  and  down 
the  world  and  could  not  find  them;  and 
under  the  power  of  all  those  countless 
divinities  who  have  taken  upon  them- 
selves spiritual  bodies  in  the  minds  of 
the  modern  poets  and  romance  writers, 
and  under  the  power  of  the  old  divinities, 
who  since  the  Renaissance  have  won  every- 
thing of  their  ancient  worship  except  the 
sacrifice  of  birds  and  fishes,  the  fragrance 
of  garlands  and  the  smoke  of  incense. 
The  many  think  humanity  made  these 
divinities,  and  that  it  can  unmake  them 
again ;  but  we  who  have  seen  them  pass 
in  rattling  harness,  and  in  soft  robes, 
and  heard  them  speak  with  articulate 
voices  while  we  lay  in  deathlike  trance, 
know  that  they  are  always  making  and 
unmaking  humanity,  which  is  indeed  but 
the  trembling  of  their  lips.' 


204  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

He  had  stood  up  and  begun  to  walk  to 
and  fro,  and  had  become  in  my  waking 
dream  a  shuttle  weaving  an  immense 
purple  web  whose  folds  had  begun  to  fill 
the  room.  The  room  seemed  to  have 
become  inexplicably  silent,  as  though  all 
but  the  web  and  the  weaving  were  at  an 
end  in  the  world.  'They  have  come  to  us ; 
they  have  come  to  us,'  the  voice  began 
again;  'all  that  have  ever  been  in  your 
reverie,  all  that  you  have  met  with  in 
books.  There  is  Lear,  his  head  still  wet 
with  the  thunder-storm,  and  he  laughs 
because  you  thought  yourself  an  existence 
who  are  but  a  shadow,  and  him  a  shadow 
who  is  an  eternal  god ;  and  there  is  Bea- 
trice, with  her  lips  half  parted  in  a  smile, 
as  though  all  the  stars  were  about  to  pass 
away  in  a  sigh  of  love;  and  there  is  the 
mother  of  the  God  of  humility,  he  who  has 
cast  so  great  a  spell  over  men  that  they 
have  tried  to  unpeople  their  hearts  that  he 
might  reign  alone,  but  she  holds  in  her 
hand  the  rose  whose  every  petal  is  a  god ; 
and  there,  O  swiftly  she  comes !  is  Aphro- 
dite  under   a   twilight   falling   from   the 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  205 

wings  of  numberless  sparrows,  and  about 
her  feet  are  the  grey  and  white  doves.' 
In  the  midst  of  my  dream  I  saw  him  hold 
out  his  left  arm  and  pass  his  right  hand 
over  it  as  though  he  stroked  the  wings  of 
doves.  I  made  a  violent  effort  which 
seemed  almost  to  tear  me  in  two,  and  said 
with  forced  determination :  '  You  would 
sweep  me  away  into  an  indefinite  world 
which  fills  me  with  terror ;  and  yet  a  man 
is  a  great  man  just  in  so  far  as  he  can  make 
his  mind  reflect  everything  with  indifferent 
precision  Uke  a  mirror.'  I  seemed  to  be 
perfectly  master  of  myself,  and  went  on, 
but  more  rapidly:  'I  command  you  to 
leave  me  at  once,  for  your  ideas  and 
phantasies  are  but  the  illusions  that  creep 
like  maggots  into  civilizations  when  they 
begin  to  decline,  and  into  minds  when  they 
begin  to  decay.'  I  had  grown  suddenly 
angry,  and  seizing  the  alembic  from  the 
table,  was  about  to  rise  and  strike  him 
with  it,  when  the  peacocks  on  the  door 
behind  him  appeared  to  grow  immense; 
and  then  the  alemhic  fell  from  my  fingers 
and  I  was  drowned  in  a  tide  of  green  and 


206  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

blue  and  bronze  feathers,  and  as  I  struggled 
hopelessly  I  heard  a  distant  voice  saying : 
'Our  master  Avicenna  has  written  that 
all  life  proceeds  out  of  corruption.'  The 
glittering  feathers  had  now  covered  me 
completely,  and  I  knew  that  I  had  strug- 
gled for  hundreds  of  years,  and  was  con- 
quered at  last.  I  was  sinking  into  the 
depth  when  the  green  and  blue  and  bronze 
that  seemed  to  fill  the  world  became  a 
sea  of  flame  and  swept  me  away,  and  as  I 
was  swirled  along  I  heard  a  voice  over  my 
head  cry,  'The  mirror  is  broken  in  two 
pieces,'  and  another  voice  answer,  'The 
mirror  is  broken  in  four  pieces,'  and  a 
more  distant  voice  cry  with  an  exultant 
cry,  'The  mirror  is  broken  into  numberless 
pieces ' ;  and  then  a  multitude  of  pale 
hands  were  reaching  towards  me,  and 
strange  gentle  faces  bending  above  me, 
and  half  wailing  and  half  caressing  voices 
uttering  words  that  were  forgotten  the 
moment  they  were  spoken.  I  was  being 
lifted  out  of  the  tide  of  flame,  and  felt 
my  memories,  my  hopes,  my  thoughts, 
my  will,  everything  I  held  to  be  myself. 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  207 

melting  away;  then  I  seemed  to  rise 
through  numberless  companies  of  beings 
who  were,  I  understood,  in  some  way 
more  certain  than  thought,  each  wrapped 
in  his  eternal  moment,  in  the  perfect 
lifting  of  an  arm,  in  a  little  circlet  of  rhyth- 
mical words,  in  dreaming  with  dim  eyes 
and  half-closed  eyelids.  And  then  I  passed 
beyond  these  forms,  which  were  so  beautiful 
they  had  almost  ceased  to  be,  and,  having 
endured  strange  moods,  melancholy,  as 
it  seemed,  with  the  weight  of  many  worlds, 
I  passed  into  that  Death  which  is  Beauty 
herself,  and  into  that  Lonehness  which  all 
the  multitudes  desire  without  ceasing. 
All  things  that  had  ever  lived  seemed  to 
come  and  dwell  in  my  heart,  and  I  in 
theirs;  and  I  had  never  again  known 
mortality  or  tears,  had  I  not  suddenly 
fallen  from  the  certainty  of  vision  into  the 
uncertainty  of  dream,  and  become  a  drop 
of  molten  gold  falhng  with  immense 
rapidity,  through  a  night  elaborate  with 
stars,  and  all  about  me  a  melancholy 
exultant  waiUng.  I  fell  and  fell  and  fell, 
and  then  the  wailing  was  but  the  wailing 


208  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

of  the  wind  in  the  chimney,  and  I  awoke 
to  find  myself  leaning  upon  the  table 
and  supporting  my  head  with  my  hands. 
I  saw  the  alembic  swaying  from  side  to  side 
in  the  distant  corner  it  had  rolled  to,  and 
Michael  Robartes  watching  me  and  wait- 
ing. 'I  will  go  wherever  you  will,'  I  said, 
'and  do  whatever  you  bid  me,  for  I  have 
been  with  eternal  things.'  'I  knew,'  he 
replied,  'you  must  need  answer  as  you  have 
answered,  when  I  heard  the  storm  begin. 
You  must  come  to  a  great  distance,  for 
we  were  commanded  to  build  our  temple 
between  the  pure  multitude  by  the  waves 
and  the  impure  multitude  of  men.' 

Ill 

I  did  not  speak  as  we  drove  through 
the  deserted  streets,  for  my  mind  was 
curiously  empty  of  familiar  thoughts  and 
experiences ;  it  seemed  to  have  been 
plucked  out  of  the  definite  world  and  cast 
naked  upon  a  shoreless  sea.  There  were 
moments  when  the  vision  appeared  on 
the  point  of  returning,  and  I  would  half- 
remember,  with  an  ecstasy  of  joy  or  sorrow, 


ROSA   ALCHEMICA  209 

crimes  and  heroisms,  fortunes  and  mis- 
fortunes ;  or  begin  to  contemplate,  with 
a  sudden  leaping  of  the  heart,  hopes  and 
terrors,  desires  and  ambitions,  alien  to  my 
orderly  and  careful  life ;  and  then  I  would 
awake  shuddering  at  the  thought  that  some 
great  imponderable  being  had  swept 
through  my  mind.  It  was  indeed  days 
before  this  feeling  passed  perfectly  away, 
and  even  now,  when  I  have  sought  refuge 
in  the  only  definite  faith,  I  feel  a  great 
tolerance  for  those  people  with  incoherent 
personaUties,  who  gather  in  the  chapels 
and  meeting-places  of  certain  obscure 
sects,  because  I  also  have  felt  fixed  habits 
and  principles  dissolving  before  a  power, 
which  was  hysterica  passio  or  sheer  mad- 
ness, if  you  will,  but  was  so  powerful  in  its 
melancholy  exultation  that  I  tremble 
lest  it  wake  again  and  drive  me  from  my 
new-found  peace. 

When  we  came  in  the  grey  light  to  the 
great  half-empty  terminus,  it  seemed  to 
me  I  was  so  changed  that  I  was  no  more, 
as  man  is,  a  moment  shuddering  at  eternity, 
but  eternity  weeping  and  laughing  over  a 


210  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

moment;  and  when  we  had  started  and 
Michael  Robartes  had  fallen  asleep,  as 
he  soon  did,  his  sleeping  face,  in  which 
there  was  no  sign  of  all  that  had  so  shaken 
me  and  that  now  kept  me  wakeful,  was 
to  my  excited  mind  more  like  a  mask 
than  a  face.  The  fancy  possessed  me 
that  the  man  behind  it  had  dissolved 
away  like  salt  in  water,  and  that  it  laughed 
and  sighed,  appealed  and  denounced  at 
the  bidding  of  beings  greater  or  less  than 
man.  'This  is  not  Michael  Robartes  at 
all :  Michael  Robartes  is  dead ;  dead  for 
ten,  for  twenty  years  perhaps,'  I  kept 
repeating  to  myself.  I  fell  at  last  into  a 
feverish  sleep,  waking  up  from  time  to 
time  when  we  rushed  past  some  little 
town,  its  slated  roofs  shining  with  wet, 
or  still  lake  gleaming  in  the  cold  morning 
light.  I  had  been  too  preoccupied  to  ask 
where  we  were  going,  or  to  notice  what 
tickets  Michael  Robartes  had  taken,  but 
I  knew  now  from  the  direction  of  the  sun 
that  we  were  going  west-ward ;  and  pres- 
ently I  knew  also,  by  the  way  in  which 
the  trees  had  grown  into  the  semblance 


ROSA  ALCHEMIC  A  211 

of  tattered  beggars  flying  with  bent  heads 
towards  the  east,  that  we  were  approaching 
the  western  coast.  Then  immediately 
I  saw  the  sea  between  the  low  hills  upon  the 
left,  its  dull  grey  broken  into  white  patches 
and  lines. 

When  we  left  the  train  we  had  still,  I 
found,  some  way  to  go,  and  set  out, 
buttoning  our  coats  about  us,  for  the  wind 
was  bitter  and  violent.  Michael  Robartes 
was  silent,  seeming  anxious  to  leave  me 
to  my  thoughts ;  and  as  we  walked  between 
the  sea  and  the  rocky  side  of  a  great 
promontory,  I  realized  with  a  new  per- 
fection what  a  shock  had  been  given  to 
all  my  habits  of  thought  and  of  feelings, 
if  indeed  some  mysterious  change  had  not 
taken  place  in  the  substance  of  my  mind, 
for  the  grey  waves,  plumed  with  scudding 
foam,  had  grown  part  of  a  teeming, 
fantastic  inner  life ;  and  when  Michael 
Robartes  pointed  to  a  square  ancient- 
looking  house,  with  a  much  smaller  and 
newer  building  under  its  lee,  set  out  on 
the  very  end  of  a  dilapidated  and  almost 
deserted  pier,  and  said  it  was  the  Temple 


212  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

of  the  Alchemical  Rose,  I  was  possessed 
with  the  phantasy  that  the  sea,  which  kept 
covering  it  with  showers  of  white  foam, 
was  claiming  it  as  part  of  some  iadefinite 
and  passionate  life,  which  had  begun  to 
war  upon  our  orderly  and  careful  days, 
and  was  about  to  plunge  the  world  into  a 
night  as  obscure  as  that  which  followed 
the  downfall  of  the  classical  world.  One 
part  of  my  mind  mocked  this  phantastic 
terror,  but  the  other,  the  part  that  still 
lay  half  plunged  in  vision,  listened  to  the 
clash  of  unknown  armies,  and  shuddered 
at  unimaginable  fanaticisms,  that  hung 
in  those  grey  leaping  waves. 

We  had  gone  but  a  few  paces  along  the 
pier  when  we  came  upon  an  old  man,  who 
was  evidently  a  watchman,  for  he  sat  in 
an  overset  barrel,  close  to  a  place  where 
masons  had  been  lately  working  upon  a 
break  in  the  pier,  and  had  in  front  of  him  a 
fire  such  as  one  sees  slung  under  tinkers' 
carts.  I  saw  that  he  was  also  a  voteen, 
as  the  peasants  say,  for  there  was  a  rosary 
hanging  from  a  nail  on  the  rim  of  the 
barrel,  and  as  I  saw  I  shuddered,  and  I  did 


ROSA   ALCHEMICA  213 

not  know  why  I  shuddered.  We  had 
passed  him  a  few  yards  when  I  heard  him 
cry  in  GaeHc,  'Idolaters,  idolaters,  go 
down  to  Hell  with  your  witches  and  your 
devils ;  go  down  to  Hell  that  the  herrings 
may  come  again  into  the  bay ' ;  and  for 
some  moments  I  could  hear  him  half 
screaming  and  half  muttering  behind  us. 
'Are  you  not  afraid,'  I  said,  'that  these 
wild  fishing  people  may  do  some  desperate 
thing  against  you  ? ' 

'I  and  mine,'  he  answered,  'are  long 
past  human  hurt  or  help,  being  incorporate 
with  immortal  spirits,  and  when  we  die 
it  shall  be  the  consummation  of  the  supreme 
work.  A  time  will  come  for  these  people 
also,  and  they  will  sacrifice  a  mullet  to 
Artemis,  or  some  other  fish  to  some  new 
divinity,  unless  indeed  their  own  divinities 
set  up  once  more  their  temples  of  grey 
stone.  Their  reign  has  never  ceased,  but 
only  waned  in  power  a  little,  for  the  Sidhe 
still  pass  in  every  wind,  and  dance  and 
play  at  hurley,  but  they  cannot  build  their 
temples  again  till  there  have  been  martyr- 
doms and  victories,  and  perhaps  even  that 


214  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

long-foretold  battle  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Black  Pig.' 

Keeping  close  to  the  wall  that  went 
about  the  pier  on  the  seaward  side,  to 
escape  the  driving  foam  and  the  wind, 
which  threatened  every  moment  to  lift 
us  off  our  feet,  we  made  our  way  in  silence 
to  the  door  of  the  square  building. 
Michael  Robartes  opened  it  with  a  key, 
on  which  I  saw  the  rust  of  many  salt 
winds,  and  led  me  along  a  bare  passage 
and  up  an  uncarpeted  stair  to  a  little 
room  surrounded  with  bookshelves.  A 
meal  would  be  brought,  but  only  of  fruit, 
for  I  must  submit  to  a  tempered  fast 
before  the  ceremony,  he  explained,  and 
with  it  a  book  on  the  doctrine  and  method 
of  the  Order,  over  which  I  was  to  spend 
what  remained  of  the  winter  daylight. 
He  then  left  me,  promising  to  return  an 
hour  before  the  ceremony.  I  began  search- 
ing among  the  bookshelves,  and  found  one 
of  the  most  exhaustive  alchemical  libraries 
I  have  ever  seen.  There  were  the  works 
of  Morienus,  who  hid  his  immortal  body 
under  a  shirt  of  hair-cloth;   of  Avicenna, 


ROSA  ALCHEMIC  A  215 

who  was  a  drunkard  and  yet  controlled 
numberless  legions  of  spirits ;  of  Alfarabi, 
who  put  so  many  spirits  into  his  lute 
that  he  could  make  men  laugh,  or  weep, 
or  fall  in  deadly  trance  as  he  would ; 
of  Lully,  who  transformed  himself  into  the 
likeness  of  a  red  cock ;  of  Flamel,  who  with 
his  wife  Parnella  achieved  the  elixir  many 
hundreds  of  years  ago,  and  is  fabled  to 
live  still  in  Arabia  among  the  Dervishes ; 
and  of  many  of  less  fame.  There  were 
very  few  mystics  but  alchemical  mystics, 
and  because,  I  had  little  doubt,  of  the 
devotion  to  one  god  of  the  greater  number 
and  of  the  limited  sense  of  beauty,  which 
Robartes  would  hold  an  inevitable  conse- 
quence; but  I  did  notice  a  complete  set 
of  facsimiles  of  the  prophetical  writings 
of  William  Blake,  and  probably  because 
of  the  multitudes  that  thronged  his  illumi- 
nation and  were  'like  the  gay  fishes  on  the 
wave  when  the  moon  sucks  up  the  dew.' 
I  noted  also  many  poets  and  prose  writers 
of  every  age,  but  only  those  who  were  a 
little  weary  of  life,  as  indeed  the  greatest 
have    been    everywhere,    and    who    cast 


216  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

their  imagination  to  us,  as  a  something 
they  needed  no  longer  now  that  they  were 
going  up  in  their  fiery  chariots. 

Presently  I  heard  a  tap  at  the  door,  and 
a  woman  came  in  and  laid  a  little  fruit 
upon  the  table.  I  judged  that  she  had 
once  been  handsome,  but  her  cheeks  were 
hollowed  by  what  I  would  have  held,  had 
I  seen  her  anywhere  else,  an  excitement  of 
the  flesh  and  a  thirst  for  pleasure,  instead 
of  which  it  doubtless  was  an  excitement 
of  the  imagination  and  a  thirst  for  beauty. 
I  asked  her  some  question  concerning  the 
ceremony,  but  getting  no  answer  except 
a  shake  of  the  head,  saw  that  I  must  await 
initiation  in  silence.  When  I  had  eaten, 
she  came  again,  and  having  laid  a  curiously 
wrought  bronze  box  on  the  table,  lighted 
the  candles,  and  took  away  the  plates 
and  the  remnants.  So  soon  as  I  was 
alone,  I  turned  to  the  box,  and  found  that 
the  peacocks  of  Hera  spread  out  their 
tails  over  the  sides  and  lid,  against  a 
background,  on  which  were  wrought  great 
stars,  as  though  to  affirm  that  the  heavens 
were  a  part  of  their  glory.     In  the  box 


ROSA  ALCHEMIC  A  217 

was  a  book  bound  in  vellum,  and  having 
upon  the  vellum  and  in  very  deUcate 
colours,  and  in  gold,  the  alchemical  rose 
with  many  spears  thrusting  against  it, 
but  in  vain,  as  was  shown  by  the  shattered 
points  of  those  nearest  to  the  petals.  The 
book  was  written  upon  vellum,  and  in 
beautiful  clear  letters,  interspersed  with 
symbohcal  pictures  and  illuminations,  after 
the  manner  of  the  Splendor  Solis. 

The  first  chapter  described  how  six 
students,  of  Celtic  descent,  gave  themselves 
separately  to  the  study  of  alchemy,  and 
solved,  one  the  mystery  of  the  Pelican, 
another  the  mystery  of  the  green  Dragon, 
another  the  mystery  of  the  Eagle,  another 
that  of  Salt  and  Mercury.  What  seemed  a 
succession  of  accidents,  but  was,  the  book 
declared,  the  contrivance  of  preternatural 
powers,  brought  them  together  in  the 
garden  of  an  inn  in  the  South  of  France, 
and  while  they  talked  together  the  thought 
came  to  them  that  alchemy  was  the  gradual 
distillation  of  the  contents  of  the  soul, 
until  they  were  ready  to  put  off  the  mortal 
and  put  on  the  immortal.    An  owl  passed. 


218  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

rustling  among  the  vine-leaves  overhead, 
and  then  an  old  woman  came,  leaning 
upon  a  stick,  and,  sitting  close  to  them, 
took  up  the  thought  where  they  had 
dropped  it.  Having  expounded  the  whole 
principle  of  spiritual  alchemy,  and  bid 
them  found  the  Order  of  the  Alchemical 
Rose,  she  passed  from  among  them,  and 
when  they  would  have  followed  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  They  formed  themselves 
into  an  Order,  holding  their  goods  and 
making  their  researches  in  common,  and, 
as  they  became  perfect  in  the  alchemical 
doctrine,  apparitions  came  and  went  among 
them,  and  taught  them  more  and  more 
marvellous  mysteries.  The  book  then 
went  on  to  expound  so  much  of  these  as 
the  neophyte  was  permitted  to  know,  deal- 
ing at  the  outset  and  at  considerable 
length  with  the  independent  reality  of  our 
thoughts,  which  was,  it  declared,  the  doc- 
trine from  which  all  true  doctrines  rose. 
If  you  imagine,  it  said,  the  semblance  of  a 
living  being,  it  is  at  once  possessed  by  a 
wandering  soul,  and  goes  hither  and  thither 
working  good  or  evil,  until  the  moment  of 


ROSA  ALCHEMIC  A  219 

its  death  has  come ;  and  gave  many  exam- 
ples, received,  it  said,  from  many  gods. 
Eros  had  taught  them  how  to  fashion 
forms  in  which  a  divine  soul  could  dweU, 
and  whisper  what  they  would  into  sleeping 
minds;  and  Ate,  forms  from  which  de- 
monic beings  could  pour  madness,  or 
unquiet  dreams,  into  sleeping  blood ;  and 
Hermes,  that  if  you  powerfully  imagined  a 
hound  at  your  bedside  it  would  keep  watch 
there  until  you  woke,  and  drive  away  all 
but  the  mightiest  demons,  but  that  if  your 
imagination  was  weakly,  the  hound  would 
be  weakly  also,  and  the  demons  prevail, 
and  the  hound  soon  die;  and  Aphrodite, 
that  if  you  made,  by  a  strong  imagining,  a 
dove  crowned  with  silver  and  bade  it  flutter 
over  your  head,  its  soft  cooing  would  make 
sweet  dreams  of  immortal  love  gather  and 
brood  over  mortal  sleep ;  and  all  divinities 
alike  had  revealed  with  many  warnings 
and  lamentations  that  all  minds  are  con- 
tinually giving  birth  to  such  beings,  and 
sending  them  forth  to  work  health  or  dis- 
ease, joy  or  madness.  If  you  would  give 
forms  to  the  evil  powers,  it  went  on,  you 


220  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

were  to  make  them  ugly,  thrusting  out  a 
Up,  with  the  thirsts  of  Hfe,  or  breaking  the 
proportions  of  a  body  with  the  burdens  of 
life ;  but  the  divine  powers  would  only 
appear  in  beautiful  shapes,  which  are  but, 
as  it  were,  shapes  trembling  out  of  existence, 
folding  up  into  a  timeless  ecstasy,  drifting 
with  half-shut  eyes,  into  a  sleepy  stillness. 
The  bodiless  souls  who  descended  into 
these  forms  were  what  men  called  the 
moods ;  and  worked  all  great  changes  in  the 
world ;  for  just  as  the  magician  or  the 
artist  could  call  them  when  he  would,  so 
they  could  call  out  of  the  mind  of  the 
magician  or  the  artist,  or  if  they  were 
demons,  out  of  the  mind  of  the  mad  or  the 
ignoble,  what  shape  they  would,  and 
through  its  voice  and  its  gestures  pour 
themselves  out  upon  the  world.  In  this 
way  all  great  events  were  accomplished ; 
a  mood,  a  divinity,  or  a  demon,  first 
descending  hke  a  faint  sigh  into  men's 
minds  and  then  changing  their  thoughts 
and  their  actions  until  hair  that  was  yellow 
had  grown  black,  or  hair  that  was  black  had 
grown  yellow,  and  empires  moved  their 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  221 

border,  as  though  they  were  but  drifts  of 
leaves.  The  rest  of  the  book  contained 
sjonbols  of  form,  and  sound,  and  colour, 
and  their  attribution  to  divinities  and 
demons,  so  that  the  initiate  might  fashion 
a  shape  for  any  divinity  or  any  demon, 
and  be  as  powerful  as  Avicenna  among 
those  who  live  under  the  roots  of  tears  and 
of  laughter. 

IV 

A  couple  of  hours  after  sunset  Michael 
Robartes  returned  and  told  me  that  I 
would  have  to  learn  the  steps  of  an  exceed- 
ingly antique  dance,  because  before  my 
initiation  could  be  perfected  I  had  to  join 
three  times  in  a  magical  dance,  for  rhythm 
was  the  wheel  of  Eternity,  on  which  alone 
the  transient  and  accidental  could  be 
broken,  and  the  spirit  set  free.  I  found 
that  the  steps,  which  were  simple  enough, 
resembled  certain  antique  Greek  dances, 
and  having  been  a  good  dancer  in  my  youth 
and  the  master  of  many  curious  Gaelic 
steps,  I  soon  had  them  in  my  memory. 
He  then  robed  me  and  himself  in  a  costume 


222  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

which  suggested  by  its  shape  both  Greece 
and  Egypt,  but  by  its  crimson  colour  a 
more  passionate  Hfe  than  theirs ;  and  hav- 
ing put  into  my  hands  a  Uttle  chainless 
censer  of  bronze,  wrought  into  the  hkeness 
of  a  rose,  by  some  modern  craftsman,  he 
told  me  to  open  a  small  door  opposite  to 
the  door  by  which  I  had  entered.  I  put 
my  hand  to  the  handle,  but  the  moment  I 
did  so  the  fumes  of  the  incense,  helped 
perhaps  by  his  mysterious  glamour,  made 
me  fall  again  into  a  dream,  in  which  I 
seemed  to  be  a  mask,  lying  on  the  counter 
of  a  Uttle  Eastern  shop.  Many  persons, 
with  eyes  so  bright  and  still  that  I  knew 
them  for  more  than  human,  came  in  and 
tried  me  on  their  faces,  but  at  last  flung 
me  into  a  corner  with  a  little  laughter; 
but  all  this  passed  in  a  moment,  for  when 
I  awoke  my  hand  was  still  upon  the  handle. 
I  opened  the  door,  and  found  myself  in  a 
marvellous  passage,  along  whose  sides  were 
many  divinities  wrought  in  a  mosaic,  not 
less  beautiful  than  the  mosaic  in  the 
Baptistery  at  Ravenna,  but  of  a  less  severe 
beauty;    the  predominant  colour  of  each 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  223 

divinity,  which  was  surely  a  symbolic 
colour,  being  repeated  in  the  lamps  that 
hung  from  the  ceiling,  a  curiously-scented 
lamp  before  every  divinity.  I  passed  on, 
marvelling  exceedingly  how  these  enthu- 
siasts could  have  created  all  this  beauty  in 
so  remote  a  place,  and  half  persuaded  to 
believe  in  a  material  alchemy,  by  the  sight 
of  so  much  hidden  wealth ;  the  censer 
filling  the  air,  as  I  passed,  with  smoke  of 
ever-changing  colour. 

I  stopped  before  a  door,  on  whose  bronze 
panels  were  wrought  great  waves  in  whose 
shadow  were  faint  suggestions  of  terrible 
faces.  Those  beyond  it  seemed  to  have 
heard  our  steps,  for  a  voice  cried  :  '  Is  the 
work  of  the  Incorruptible  Fire  at  an  end  ? ' 
and  immediately  Michael  Robartes  an- 
swered :  'The  perfect  gold  has  come  from 
the  athanor.'  The  door  swung  open,  and 
we  were  in  a  great  circular  room,  and 
among  men  and  women  who  were  dancing 
slowly  in  crimson  robes.  Upon  the  ceiling 
was  an  immense  rose  wrought  in  mosaic; 
and  about  the  walls,  also  in  mosaic,  was  a 
battle  of  gods  and  angels,  the  gods  gUmmer- 


224  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

ing  like  rubies  and  sapphires,  and  the 
angels  of  the  one  greyness,  because,  as 
Michael  Robartes  whispered,  they  had 
renounced  their  divinity,  and  turned  from 
the  unfolding  of  their  separate  hearts, 
out  of  love  for  a  God  of  humility  and 
sorrow.  Pillars  supported  the  roof  and 
made  a  kind  of  circular  cloister,  each 
pillar  being  a  column  of  confused  shapes, 
divinities,  it  seemed,  of  the  wind,  who  rose 
as  in  a  whirling  dance  of  more  than  human 
vehemence,  and  playing  upon  pipes  and 
cymbals;  and  from  among  these  shapes 
were  thrust  out  hands,  and  in  these  hands 
were  censers.  I  was  bid  place  my  censer 
also  in  a  hand  and  take  my  place  and  dance, 
and  as  I  turned  from  the  pillars  towards  the 
dancers,  I  saw  that  the  floor  was  of  a  green 
stone,  and  that  a  pale  Christ  on  a  pale 
cross  was  wrought  in  the  midst.  I  asked 
Robartes  the  meaning  of  this,  and  was 
told  that  they  desired  'To  trouble  His 
unity  with  their  multitudinous  feet.'  The 
dance  wound  in  and  out,  tracing  upon  the 
floor  the  shapes  of  petals  that  copied  the 
petals  in  the  rose  overhead,  and  to  the 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  225 

sound  of  hidden  instruments  which  were 
perhaps  of  an  antique  pattern,  for  I  have 
never  heard  the  hke ;  and  every  moment 
the  dance  was  more  passionate,  until  all 
the  winds  of  the  world  seemed  to  have 
awakened  under  our  feet.  After  a  Uttle 
I  had  grown  weary,  and  stood  under  a  pillar 
watching  the  coming  and  going  of  those 
flame-hke  figures;  until  gradually  I  sank 
into  a  half-dream,  from  which  I  was 
awakened  by  seeing  the  petals  of  the  great 
rose,  which  had  no  longer  the  look  of  mosaic, 
falling  slowly  through  the  incense-heavy 
air,  and,  as  they  fell,  shaping  into  the  like- 
ness of  living  beings  of  an  extraordinary 
beauty.  Still  faint  and  cloud-hke,  they 
began  to  dance,  and  as  they  danced  took  a 
more  and  more  definite  shape,  so  that  I  was 
able  to  distinguish  beautiful  Grecian  faces 
and  august  Egyptian  faces,  and  now  and 
again  to  name  a  divinity  by  the  staff  in  his 
hand  or  by  a  bird  fluttering  over  his  head ; 
and  soon  every  mortal  foot  danced  by  the 
white  foot  of  an  immortal ;  and  in  the 
troubled  eyes  that  looked  into  untroubled 
shadowy  eyes,   I   saw   the  brightness   of 

Q 


226  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

uttermost  desire  as  though  they  had 
found  at  length,  after  unreckonable  wan- 
dering, the  lost  love  of  their  youth.  Some- 
times, but  only  for  a  moment,  I  saw  a  faint 
solitary  figure  with  a  veiled  face,  and  carry- 
ing a  faint  torch,  flit  among  the  dancers, 
but  like  a  dream  within  a  dream,  like  a 
shadow  of  a  shadow,  and  I  knew  by  an 
understanding  born  from  a  deeper  foun- 
tain than  thought,  that  it  was  Eros  him- 
self, and  that  his  face  was  veiled  because  no 
man  or  woman  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world  has  ever  known  what  love  is,  or 
looked  into  his  eyes,  for  Eros  alone  of 
divinities  is  altogether  a  spirit,  and  hides 
in  passions  not  of  his  essence  if  he  would 
commune  with  a  mortal  heart.  So  that  if 
a  man  love  nobly  he  knows  love  through 
infinite  pity,  unspeakable  trust,  unending 
sympathy;  and  if  ignobly  through  vehe- 
ment jealousy,  sudden  hatred,  and  unap- 
peasable desire ;  but  unveiled  love  he 
never  knows.  While  I  thought  these 
things,  a  voice  cried  to  me  from  the  crim- 
son figures  :  '  Into  the  dance  !  there  is  none 
that  can  be  spared  out  of  the  dance ;  into 


ROSA   ALCHEMICA  227 

the  dance !  into  the  dance !  that  the  gods 
may  make  them  bodies  out  of  the  substance 
of  our  hearts ' ;  and  before  I  could  answer, 
a  mysterious  wave  of  passion,  that  seemed 
hke  the  soul  of  the  dance  moving  within 
our  souls,  took  hold  of  me,  and  I  was  swept, 
neither  consenting  nor  refusing,  into  the 
midst.  I  was  dancing  with  an  immortal 
august  woman,  who  had  black  lilies  in  her 
hair,  and  her  dreamy  gesture  seemed  laden 
with  a  wisdom  more  profound  than  the 
darkness  that  is  between  star  and  star,  and 
with  a  love  like  the  love  that  breathed  upon 
the  waters ;  and  as  we  danced  on  and  on, 
the  incense  drifted  over  us  and  round  us, 
covering  us  away  as  in  the  heart  of  the 
world,  and  ages  seemed  to  pass,  and  tem- 
pests to  awake  and  perish  in  the  folds 
of  our  robes  and  in  her  heavy  hair. 

Suddenly  I  remembered  that  her  eyelids 
had  never  quivered,  and  that  her  lilies  had 
not  dropped  a  black  petal,  or  shaken  from 
their  places,  and  understood  with  a  great 
horror  that  I  danced  with  one  who  was 
more  or  less  than  human,  and  who  was 
drinking  up  my  soul  as  an  ox  drinks  up  a 


228  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

wayside  pool;    and  I  fell,  and  darkness 
passed  over  me. 


I  awoke  suddenly  as  though  something 
had  awakened  me,  and  saw  that  I  was  lying 
on  a  roughly  painted  floor,  and  that  on  the 
ceiUng,  which  was  at  no  great  distance,  was 
a  roughly  painted  rose,  and  about  me  on  the 
walls  half -finished  paintings.  The  pillars 
and  the  censers  had  gone ;  and  near  me  a 
score  of  sleepers  lay  wrapped  in  disordered 
robes,  their  upturned  faces  looking  to  my 
imagination  like  hollow  masks ;  and  a  chill 
dawn  was  shining  down  upon  them  from  a 
long  window  I  had  not  noticed  before; 
and  outside  the  sea  roared.  I  saw  Michael 
Robartes  lying  at  a  little  distance  and 
beside  him  an  overset  bowl  of  wrought 
bronze  which  looked  as  though  it  had  once 
held  incense.  As  I  sat  thus,  I  heard  a 
sudden  tumult  of  angry  men  and  women's 
voices  mix  with  the  roaring  of  the  sea ;  and 
leaping  to  my  feet,  I  went  quickly  to 
Michael  Robartes,  and  tried  to  shake  him 
out  of  his  sleep.    I  then  seized  him  by  the 


ROSA  ALCHEMICA  229 

shoulder  and  tried  to  lift  him,  but  he  fell 
backwards,  and  sighed  faintly;  and  the 
voices  became  louder  and  angrier;  and 
there  was  a  sound  of  heavy  blows  upon  the 
door,  which  opened  on  to  the  pier.  Sud- 
denly I  heard  a  sound  of  rending  wood,  and 
I  knew  it  had  begun  to  give,  and  I  ran  to 
the  door  of  the  room.  I  pushed  it  open 
and  came  out  upon  a  passage  whose  bare 
boards  clattered  under  my  feet,  and  found 
in  the  passage  another  door  which  led  into 
an  empty  kitchen ;  and  as  I  passed  through 
the  door  I  heard  two  crashes  in  quick  succes- 
sion, and  knew  by  the  sudden  noise  of  feet 
and  the  shouts  that  the  door  which  opened 
on  to  the  pier  had  fallen  inwards.  I  ran 
from  the  kitchen  and  out  into  a  small  yard, 
and  from  this  down  some  steps  which 
descended  the  seaward  and  sloping  side 
of  the  pier,  and  from  the  steps  clambered 
along  the  water's  edge,  with  the  angry 
voices  ringing  in  my  ears.  This  part  of  the 
pier  had  been  but  lately  refaced  with  blocks 
of  granite,  so  that  it  was  almost  clear  of 
seaweed ;  but  when  I  came  to  the  old  part, 
I  found  it  so  slippery  with  green  weed  that 


230  ROSA  ALCHEMICA 

I  had  to  climb  up  on  to  the  roadway.  I 
looked  towards  the  Temple  of  the  Alchemi- 
cal Rose,  where  the  fishermen  and  the 
women  were  still  shouting,  but  somewhat 
more  faintly,  and  saw  that  there  was  no 
one  about  the  door  or  upon  the  pier ;  but 
as  I  looked,  a  Uttle  crowd  hurried  out  of  the 
door  and  began  gathering  large  stones 
from  where  they  were  heaped  up  in  readi- 
ness for  the  next  time  a  storm  shattered 
the  pier,  when  they  would  be  laid  under 
blocks  of  granite.  While  I  stood  watching 
the  crowd,  an  old  man,  who  was,  I  think,  the 
voteen,  pointed  to  me,  and  screamed  out 
something,  and  the  crowd  whitened,  for  all 
the  faces  had  turned  towards  me.  I  ran, 
and  it  was  well  for  me  that  pullers  of  the 
oar  are  poorer  men  with  their  feet  than  with 
their  arms  and  their  bodies ;  and  yet  while 
I  ran  I  scarcely  heard  the  following  feet  or 
the  angry  voices,  for  many  voices  of  exulta- 
tion and  lamentation,  which  were  forgotten 
as  a  dream  is  forgotten  the  moment  they 
were  heard,  seemed  to  be  ringing  in  the  air 
over  my  head. 

There  are  moments  even  now  when  I 


ROSA   ALCHEMICA  231 

seem  to  hear  those  voices  of  exultation  and 
lamentation,  and  when  the  indefinite  world, 
which  has  but  half  lost  its  mastery  over  my 
heart  and  my  intellect,  seems  about  to 
claim  a  perfect  mastery;  but  I  carry  the 
rosary  about  my  neck,  and  when  I  hear,  or 
seem  to  hear  them,  I  press  it  to  my  heart 
and  say :  '  He  whose  name  is  Legion  is  at 
our  doors  deceiving  our  intellects  with 
subtlety  and  flattering  our  hearts  with 
beauty,  and  we  have  no  trust  but  in  Thee' ; 
and  then  the  war  that  rages  within  me  at 
other  times  is  still,  and  I  am  at  peace. 


T 


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I  would  commend  these  volumes,  and  especially  the  one 
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the  quickness  of  religious  apperception,  combined  with  the 
intellectual  honesty  and  scientific  clearness  of  Tagore.  .  .  . 

Here  is  a  book  from  a  master,  free  as  the  air,  with  a  mind , 
universal  as  the  sunshine.    He  writes,  of  course,  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  Hindu.    But,  strange  to  say,  his  spirit  and  teaching 
come  nearer  to  Jesus,  as  we  find  Him  in  the  Gospels,  than  any 
modern  Christian  writer  I  know. 

He  does  for  the  average  reader  what  Bergson  and  Eucken 
are  doing  for  scholars ;  he  rescues  the  soul  and  its  faculties  from 
their  enslavement  to  logic-chopping.  He  shows  us  the  way 
back  to  Nature  and  her  spiritual  voices. 

He  rebukes  our  materialistic,  wealth-mad,  Western  life  with 
the  dignity  and  authority  of  one  of  the  old  Hebrew  prophets.  .  .  . 

He  opens  up  the  meaning  of  life.  He  makes  us  feel  the 
redeeming  fact  that  life  is  tremendous,  a  worth-while  adventure. 
"  Everything  has  sprung  from  immortal  life  and  is  vibrating 
with  hfe.    LIFE  IS  IMMENSE."  .  .  . 

Tagore  is  a  great  human  being.  His  heart  is  warm  with  love. 
His  thoughts  are  pure  and  high  as  the  galaxy. 

(Copyright,  1913,  by  Frank  Crane.)  Reprinted  by  permission 
from  the  New  York  Globe,  Dec.  18,  1913. 


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JOHN  MASEFIELD'S  NEW  PLAY 

The  Tragedy  of  Pompey  the  Great 

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John  Masefield  is  not  unknown  as  a  drama- 
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